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UNIVERSITY    Of 
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THE 


CLASS  BOOK 


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CONSISTING   PRINCIPALLY    OF 


SELECTIONS  IN  THE  DEPARTMENTS  OP  HISTORY,   BIOGRAPHY, 

PROSE  FICTION,   TRAVELS,  THE  DRAMA,   POPULAR 

ELOaUENCE,  AND  POETRY  j 


BZSST  IVRXTEXIS  OF  OUR  OVTU  COUKTRV, 


Designed  to  be  used  as  a  Reading  Book  in  American  Schools.' 


BY  JOHN  FROST. 


BOSTON : 
PRINTED  AND  PUBLISHED  BY  J.  H.  A.  FROST, 

No.  39  Washington  street. 

1826. 


DISTRICT    OP    MASSACHUSETTS,    55. 

District  Clerk's  Office. 

Be  it  remembered,  that  on  the  seventh  day  of  November,  A.  D.  1826,  and 
.n  the  fifty-first  year  of  the  Independence  of  the  United  States  of  America, 
John  H.  A.  Frost,  of  the  said  District,  has  deposited  in  this  office  the  title 
of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  he  claims  as  proprietor,  in  the  words  follow- 
ing, to  wit : 

*■  The  Class  Book  of  'American  Literature ;  consisting  principally  of 
Selections  in  the  Departments  of  History,  Biography,  Prose  Fiction, 
Travels,  the  Drama,  Popular  Eloquence,  and  Poetry ;  from  the  best 
Writers  of  our  own  country.  Designed  to  be  used  as  a  Reading  Book  in 
\merican  Schools.     By  John  Frost.' 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  entitled 
*  An  Act  for  the  encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of 
Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors  of  such  copies, 
dhring  the  times  therein  mentioned.'  And  also  to  an  Act,  entitled  '  An 
Act,  supplementary  to  an  Act,  entitled  an  Act  for  the  encouragement  of 
Learning,  by  securing  the  copies  of  Maps,  Charts,  and  Books,  to  the  au- 
thors and  proprietors  of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned 
and  extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the-  arts  of  designing,  engravi| 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints.' 

JNO.  W.  DAVIS, 

Clerk  of  the  District  oi  Massachusettl 


PREFACE. 


The  objects  of  the  present  publication  are  to  improve  youth  in  th€ 
art  of  elocution,  and  to  cherish  the  love  of  liberty,  of  virtue,  and  our 
country.  A  reading  book  for  schools  may  promote  all  these  objects.  It 
furnishes  a  daily  exercise  ;  and  the  truths  and  sentiments  contained  in  it, 
so  far  as  they  are  understood,  become  indelibly  impressed  on  the  minds 
of  the  pupils,  and  exert  an  important  influence  on  their  subsequent  moral 
and  intellectual  character. 

It  is  under  an  impression,  of  the  high  responsibility  incurred  by  such 

an  undertaking,  that  the  subscriber  has  made  the  following  compilation. 

There  are  some  respects,  in  which  it  differs  from  any  preceding  one. 

He  hopes,  that  these  changes  may  not  be  deemed  inconsistent  with  the 

^^^are vailing  spirit  of  improvement  in  education. 

j^^^HkAU  the  pieces  are  taken  from  the  works  of  our  native  writers ;  they 
^^^Huate  principally  to  the  history,  the  literature  and  the  scenery  of  our 
^^Hown  country ;  the  historical  pieces  are  arranged  with  reference  to  the 
^^m  order  of  time  and  interspersed  with  dialogues,  speeches,  and  miscellane- 
HP^  ous  extracts  ;  and  care  has  been  taken,  to  select  such  pieces  as  are  intel- 
r         ligible  and  interesting,  to  most  of  the  classes  in  a  school  or  academy. 

The  compiler  is  by  no  meadlB  desirous  to  exclude  from  our  schools 
the  classical  writers  of  Great  Britain.  He  only  wishes  to  have  our 
own  presented  to  the  young  collectively ;  and  when  it  is  remembered 
that  there  is  a  period  during  the  liberal  education  of  every  youth  in  this 
country,  in  which  he  is  required  to  devote  himself  exclusively,  to  the 
classical  writers  of  Greece  and  Rome  ;  and  another,  in  which  the  more 
accomplished  scholar  acquaints  himself  with  those  of  France,  Italy,  and 
Germany  ;  while  a  man  can  scarcely  claim  to  be  intelligent,  who  is  not 

-  m65om 


IV  PREFACE. 

well  acquainted  with  the  hfstory  and  literature  of  England  ;  it  will  surely 
not  be  thought  unreasonable,  that  there  should  be  one  stage  in  the 
course  even  of  common  education,  in  which  the  brightest  periods  in  the 
history  and  the  finest  specimens  in  the  literature  of  our  own  country, 
should  claim  the  exclusive  attention  of  the  young,  by  being  presented  to 
them  in  a  daily  reading  manual. 

These  are  the  subjects,  which  have  the  most  powerful  interest  for  our 
youth.  There  is  nothing,  at  which  they  so  readily  kindle  into  that  emo- 
tion, which  is  absohitely  necessary  to  a  good  elocution,  as  at  whatever 
relates  to  our  own  country,  and  especially,  to  its  glorious  and  heroick 
age.  The  teacher  has  only  to  present  an  American  boy  with  an  eloquent 
passage  relating  to  some  brilliant  event  of  that  period,  and  his  eyes  will 
sparkle,  and  his  voice  instantly  assume  the  true  intonations  of  feeling. 

The  compiler  does  not  subscribe  to  the  doctrine,  that  elocution  is  in 
Improper  subject  of  written  instruction.  He  thinks  that  Cicero  and 
Quintilian  could  hardly  have  mistaken  the  matter,  so  far  as  to  attempt 
the  composition  of  treatises  on  elocution,  if  the  art  were  necessarily  inca- 
pable of  being  treated  with  the  pen. 

Jt  is  true  that  some  writers  on  the  subject  have  multiplied  rules  and 
directions  so  far  as  to  expose  themselves  to  the  censure  of  reducing  to  a 
mechanical  process,  an  art  which  is  purely  intellectual.  They  have 
endeavoured  to  supply  the  want  of  oral  by  written  instruction.  Th 
correct  practice,  probably,  lies  between  the  opposite  extremes  of  usind 
multitude  of  rules,  and  using  none ;  and  the  happiest  effects  will 
doubtedly  result  from  the  union  of  a  few  simple  directions  with 
example  of  a  good  reader.  For  unless  some  general  principles 
communicated  to  the  pupil,  his  knowledge  of  the  art  will  extend  little  ^ 
farther  than  to  the  very  examples  which  he  has  heard  his  instructer 
recite.    He  may  give  admirable  imitatioiA,  but  never  an  original  reading. 

It  will  hardly  be  denied,  that  a  youth  who  is  capable  of  understanding 
Grammar  and  Arithmetick,  may  be  taught  to  apply  general  principles, 
to  the  true  conception  and  correct  reading  of  other  writers  and  the 
eloquent  delivery  of  his  own  sentiments. 

The  compiler  had  intended  to  prefix  to  this  volume,  a  brief  introduc- 
tion, comprising  some  established  principles  in  elocution,  but  has  omitted 
it  OB  being  apprized,  that  a  separate  work  of  this  kind  is  in  preparation, 


t»REFACE.  V 

Hy  a  gentleman,  who  devotes  himself  to  instruction  in  that  particular 
branch  of  education  in  this  city  * 

If  the  compilation  is  deficient,  in  literary  merit,  the  fault  lies  wholly 
with  the  compiler,  for  he  has  had  an  ample  field  before  him — a  sound 
literature,  whose  foundations  like  those  of  the  best  of  antiquity,  were 
laid  in  the  love  of  civil  liberty,  whose  most  vigorous  and  manly  pro- 
ductions, were  called  forth  in  defence  of  that  liberty,  and  whose  fairest 
ornaments  are  those  works,  which  bear  the  strongest  marks  of  true 
national  feeling.  J.  FROST. 

Boston  J  Kovember  6,  1826. 

*  The  above  mentioned  work,  prepared  by  Mr.  William  Russell,  contains,  besides  the 
rules  requisite  for  learners,  directions  for  the  guidance  of  teachers.  It  is  now  nearly 
through  the  press.  At  the  request  of  Mr.  Russell,  some  alterations  in  the  present  work 
have  been  made  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  furnishing  a  course  of  exercises  to  accom- 
pany his  rules. 


r 


I* 


CONTENTS. 


I 
I 


Lesson-  -r,  ,.t        -r,  ^^^^^ 

1.  Dialogue  on  History,        -        -       Evenings  in  New  England  13 

2.  Settlement  of  Virginia,          -         -         -         -         -         J.Davis  16 

3.  "              New  England,    -        -        -        -        E.  Everett  18 

4.  Golden  Age  of  New  York,             .         .         _         -       W.  Irving  21 

5.  Rivalship  in  Almanack  Making,         -         -         -       B.  Franklin  24 

6.  Origin  of  the  Revolution, Cooper  26 

7.  On  the  Repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act,       -         -         -             Mayhew  28 

8.  Woods  in  Winter, Longfellow  31 

9.  New  England, Miss  Francis  32 

10.  Boston  Garrisoned, Holmes  33 

11.  Marguerite  and  Louis,     -         -         -         .            Miss  Sedgwick  34 

12.  An  Indian  at  the  Burying-place  of  his  Fathers,        -        Bryant  38 

13.  Boston  Massacre,            -         -         -         -         -         -         Holmes  40 

14.  Painting  and  Sculpture  in  Ancient  Greece,    U.  S.  Lit.  Gazette  41 

15.  Usefulness  of  the  Fine  Arts,  -         -  "43 

16.  Dion's  Dream, Jones  46 

17.  The  Rivulet, Bryant  47 

8,  The  Angler, -         W.  Irving  49 

9.  The  Angler's  Song,              -         -         -         -             Longfellow  62 

20.  On  the  Boston  Port  Bill,         -         -        r         -         -       J  Quingy  53 

21.  Town  and  Country,            .         -         -         -         Miss  Sedgwick  56 

22.  Evening, Easteurn  61 

23.  Dr.  Knipperhausen,             -    .     -         -         -         -         W.  Irving  63 

24.  Notice  of  Dr.  Warren, S.  L.  Knapp  65 

25.  Extract, W^arren  6Q 

26.  Speech  of  Patrick  Henry, Wirt  69 

27.  The  Indian  Hunter's  Return,       -         -      Boston  M.  Magazine  71 

28.  C^faracter.of  Samuel  Adams,             .         -         ^         -         Tudor  73 

29.  Dialogue, Cooper  74 

30.  Affair  of  Lexington  and  Concord,     -         -         -        E.Everett  75 

31.  Reflections  on  the  Affair  of  Lexington,         -         -  "80 

32.  Dialogue,         -         --         -         -         -         -         -        Cooper  82 

33.  The  Gladiator, Jones  86* 

34.  Paternal  Affection,          -       ^-         -         -         -         G.Bancroft  88 

35.  Advice  to^Young  Tradesman,           •         -         -     B.  Fkanki-in  89 

36.  Battle  of  Bihker  Hill,     -         -         -         -         -       N.  A.  Review  91 

37.  Address  to  the  Bunker  Hill  Surrivers,         -         -     D.  Webster  93 

38.  To  Seneca  Lake,            -        -        -        -        -        -      Percival  95^ 


CONTENTS. 


39.  The  New  England  Farm-house,        -        -        Mrs.  Sigourney    96 

40.  Description  of  a  Freshet, "  99 

41.  The  Grave  of  the  Indian  Chief,  -         -         -  Percival  100 

42.  Congress  of  1776, Cusuing   101 

43.  Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adams,  -         -         D.  Webster  105 

44.  Declaration  of  Independence,       -         -         -  T.  Jefferson   108 

45.  Literary  characiers  of  Jetierson  and  Adams,     -  Cushing  111 

46.  Grecian  Liberty, Pekcival   114 

47.  Capture  of  a  Whale, Cooper  117 

48.  Capture  of  tlie  Alacrity,     -.----  *'  121 

49.  Speech  of  James  Otis,  .         .         .         .  The  Rebels   1i:4 

60.  Passage  of  the  Delaware,  &:c.  .         -         .         .      Ramsay   126 

61.  Lafayette, Ticknor  130 

52.  Escape  from  Winter, Pekcival  135 

53.  The  elevated  Character  of  Woman,       -         -  J.  G.  Carter  136 

54.  Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns,  -         -         -       Longfellow   137 

55.  Description  of  a  Skirmish,  -         -         -         -     Miss  Fostf.r  138 

56.  Liberty  to  Athens, Percital   142 

57.  The  Flight  and  Death  of  Rodolph,     -         -         -         -    Pinkney  144 

58.  Siege  of  Yorktown, Ramsay   147 

59.  The  New  Year, W.  Irving   loO 

60.  Indian  Warfare, S.  Webber  153 

61.  Stagft  Coach  Adventure,  ...         -  W.  Irving   156 

62.  Characiei  of  Washington,  -         -  U.  S.  Lit.  Gazette   15y 

63.  The  Vision  of  Liberty,     -         -         -         -  H.  Wake,Jh.   160 

64.  Conduct  of  Lafayette, Ticknuk  162 

65.  The  Pioneer,  -   '     -         -         -         -         -         -  Cooper  166 

66.  On  Jhe  Departure  of  the  Pioneer,         -         -         -         Brain ard  171 

67.  House  of  Industry  at  Munich,        -         -  Count  Rumford   172 

68.  The  Murdered  Traveller,  ...         -  Bryant  177 

69.  Autumn  Woods,  "  179 

70.  Scenes  during  the  Pestilence  in  Philadelphia,         C.  W.  Brown  180 

71.  German  Character  and  Customs,        -  U.  S.  Lit.  Gazette   184 

72.  Mozart's  Requiem,         -         -         .         .  «  188 

73.  Appearance  of  England,  -         -         -  A.  H.  Everett  190 

74.  The  F'ield  of  Waterloo,  ...         -  Anonymous   193 

75.  The  Trooper's  Dirge, Anonvmous  194 

76.  The  Campania  Felix,  ....  Anonymous   195 

77.  Rural  Adventure,  Anonymous   197 

78.  The  Bay  of  Naples,  .         .         .         .         T.  W.  Stone   199 

79.  RuiiM  of  Paestum,  Anonymous  200 

60.  Scene  from  Brutus, Payne  201 

81.  The  Prado  of  Madrid,       ....  N   A.  Review  203 

82.  Scene  from  Percy's  Masque,  -         -  J.  A.  Hillhouse  207 

83.  Scene  from  Harlad,  ....  "  209 

84.  Domestick  Education,  .         .         -  Mrs.  Sigourney  212 

85.  Wcehawken,  - Anonymous  214 

86.  South  America,  W.  A.  Review  215 

87.  The  Raising  of  Jairus's  Daughter,  -  *'  217 

88.  The  Power  of  Musick,  ....  J.  Pierpont  218 

89.  Ohio, T.  Flint  219 

90.  Retirement  of  General  Putnam,      -         -         -         '    |^         "       ^^^ 

91.  Prevalence  of  Poetry,         -----        ▼ekcival  222 

92.  The  Falls  of  Niagara, Brainard  223 

93.  North  American  Indians,  .         -         -         ,  T.  Flint  223. 


^ 


CONTENTS. 


ik 


94. 

95. 

96. 

97. 

98. 

99. 
100. 
101. 
102. 
103. 
104. 
105. 
106 
107. 
108. 
109. 
110. 
111. 
112. 
113. 
114. 
115. 

116. 
117 
118. 
119. 
120. 
121. 
122. 
123. 
124 
125. 
126. 
27 
128. 
129. 
1>0. 
131. 
132. 
133. 
131 
135. 
136. 
137. 
138. 
139. 
140. 

141. 
142 
143. 
144. 


An  Evening  Sketch,  Pinkney  226 

Address  of  the  Sylph  of  Autumn,      -         -         -  Allston  227 

Eloquence, D.  Webster  229 

Vindication  of  Spain, Hopkinson  230 

Lafayette's  Visit  to  the  United  States  in  1824,  U.  S.  Lit.  Gaz.  231 
Address  to  Lafayette,  -         -         -        -  E.  Everett  235 

The  Spirit  of  Seventy-Six,  -  -  .  -  J.  Quincy  236 
Extract  from  an  Eulogy  on  Professor  Fisher,      -         Kingsley  238 

Physical  Education, Humphrey  239 

Appeal  for  the  Revolutionary  Heroes,  -         E.  Everett  242 

The  Civilization  of  Africa,         .         -         .  Rev.  L.  Bacon  243 

Evergreens, Pinkney  245 

Evening, Anonymous  246 

Industrious  Habits, N.  A.  Review  246 

Influence  of  Literature,  especially  of  the  Scriptures,  Wayland  248 
A  Desire  for  Military  Conquest  detrimental,  Hopkinson  250 

Dialogue, Cooper  251 

"  -....--.  "253 

Grandiloquence,        -        -        .        .     Berkshire  American  254 

A  Simple  Story, Jones  255 

The  Fisherman  of  Casco  Bay,  .         -         .         Anonymous  257 

Close  of  an  Oration  on  the  Death  of  John  Adams 

and  Thomas  Jefierson,        -         -         -         -         J.  Sergeant  261 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Professor  Fisher,     -         -         Bkainard  262 
The  Indian  Summer,     -         -         -         -         -         -  "  263 

Battle  of  Lake  Erie,  -         -  .         .         -         Hill  264 

Speech  in  Congress  1824,  on  the  Greek  Question,       Webster  265 

The  Schoolmaster, W.  Irving  267 

The  School, «  27I 

Forest  Scenery  in  New  England,  -         -         -  Tudor  273 

Salmon  River, Brain. a rd  276 

Great  Effects  result  from  Little  Causes,  *        -         Porter  277 

Dialogue, Cooper  278 

Mornmg  Scene  in  Winter,  -         .         .         .  <«        282 

The  Ruins  of  Jamestown, Wirt  283 

Debt  and  Credit,  ....      Trenton  Emporium  285 

Interestmg  Circumstances  relating  to  the  Bible,  -  Pavson  287 
To  the  Eagle,  .--..,.  Perctval  89 
Students  at  Gottingen,         -         -         .         .  U.  S.  Revjlw  :  91 

Extract  from  "  The  White  Indian,"         -         .  Pa?  t.ding  293 

Hagar  in  the  Wilderness,         -         -         -         .        Anonymous  295 

Description  of  iVahant, Tudor  296 

To  the  Autumn  Leaf,  -  -  -  .  .  Anonymous  297 
Wild  Horses,         -         .         .         .         .         .         .  f^int  298 

Spring,  Paulding  299 

Visit  to  Wordsworth, Gkiscom  300 

Mount  Washington,         -         -         -         .         .  Mellen  3U3 

Extract  from  a  Discourse  in  Commemoration  of  the 

Landing  of  William  Penn,        ....      Ingersoll  304 
The  Burial  of  the  Minnisink,  -         .  Longfellow  305 

5.?"".^'^'  r^l       -        - Pekcival  306 

The  New  Glance  of  Power,  -         -         -  Johnson  307 

Trial  of  Koningsmarke^  ...        -        Paulding  308 


LIST  OF  WORKS. 


[Am  this  Compilation  is  partly  designed  to  direct  the  attention  of  Youth  to  the  pro- 
ductions of  native  genius,  distinct  reference  is  made  to  the  works  from  which  the 
extracts  have  been  made.] 


Allston  Wasbiroton. 
BacoN;  L. 

Bancroft,  G. 
Bkainakd,  J.  G.  C. 
Brown,  C.  B. 
Bryant,  W.  C. 
Carter,  J.  G. 

Cooper. 

Cushino,  C. 
Davis,  J. 
Eastburn,  J. 
Everett,  A.  H. 
Everett,  E. 


Flint,  T. 


Foster,  Miss. 
Francis,  Miss. 
Franklin,  B. 
Griscom,  J. 


Sylphs  of  the  Seasons. 

A  Plea  for  Africa,  delivered  at  New  Haven 

July  4th,  1826. 
Poems. 

Occasional  Pieces  of  Poetry. 
Arthur  Mervyu. 

Poems  from  the  U.  S.  Literary  Gazette. 
Address  delivered  at  the   Consecration  of 

Plymouth  Lodge. 
The  Spy.     The  Pioneers.     Lionel  Lincoln. 

Tlie  Pilot. 
Eulog^y  on  Adams  and  Jefferson. 
First  Settlers  of  Virginia. 
Yamoyden. 
Europe.     By  a  citizen  of  the  U.  States. 
Oral  ion   pronounced  at  Cambridge,  before 

the  Society  of  Phi  Beta  Kappa.    August 

27th,  1824. 
Oration  delivered  at  Plymouth,  December 

22d, 1824. 
Oration  delivered  at  Concord,  April  19th, 

1825. 
Oration  delivered  at  Cambridge,  July  4th, 

1826. 
Travels  and  Residence  in  the  Valley  of  the 

Mississippi. 
Francis  Berrian. 
Saratoga. 

Hobomok.     The  Rebels.  . 
Works. 
Year  in  Europe. 


LIST    OF   WORKS. 


Hill,  F.  3. 

HiLLHOUSE,  J.  A. 

Holmes,  A. 
hopkinson,  f. 

Humphrey,  H. 

Irving,  W. 

Ingersoll,  J.'H. 

Jefferson,  T. 
Johnson,  W.  R. 

Jones,  J.  A. 

Kingsley,  J.  i. 

Knapp,  S.  L. 

a 
Longfellow,  H.  W. 

Mayhew,  J. 
Mellen,  G. 
Paulding. 

Payne,  J.  H. 
Payson,  E. 

Percival,  J.  G. 

PlERPONT,  J. 

Pinkney,  E.  C 
Porter,  E, 

QUINCY,  J. 

Ramsay,  D. 

RuMFORD,  B,  Count. 
Sedgwick,  Miss. 
Sergeant,  J. 

SiGouRNEY,  Mrs. 

TiCKNOR,  G. 

Tudor,  W. 

Ware,  H.  Jr. 
Warren,  J. 

Wayland,  F.  Jr. 

Webber,  S. 


Harvest  Festival,  and  other  Poems. 

Percy's  Masque.     A  Drama. 

Hadad.     A  Dramatick  Poem. 

American  Annals. 

Speech  during  the  Debate  on  the  Seminole 
War. 

Inaugural  Address  delivered  at  the  Colle- 
giate Institution  at  Amherst,  Mass. 

Knickerbocker's  History  of  New  York. 
Sketch  Book.  Bracebridge  Hall.  Sal- 
magundi. 

Discourse  in  Commemoration  of  the  Land* 
ing  of  William  Penn. 

Declaration  of  Independence. 

Remarks  on  the  Policy  of  Substituting  the 
Discipline  of  the  Senses  for  that  of  the 
Understanding. 

Poems  from  the  United  States  Literary 
Gazette. 

Eulogy  on  Professor  A.  M.  Fisher. 

Biographical  Sketches  of  Eminent  Lawyers, 
Statesmen,  and  Men  of  Letters. 

Boston  Monthly  Magazine. 

Poems  from  the  United  States  Literary 
Gazette. 

Sermon  on  the  Repeal  of  the  Stamp  Act. 

Poems  from  the  U.  S.  Literary  Gazette» 

Koningsmarke,  the  Long  Finne, 

The  White  Indian. 

Brutus.     A  Tragedy. 

Address  delivered  before  the  Bible  Society 
of  Maine. 

Poems. 

Airs  of  Palestine. 

Poems. 

Sermon.  Great  Effects  result  from  Little 
Causes. 

Memoirs  of  J.  Quincy,  Jr. 

Oration  delivered  at  Boston,  July  4th,  1826. 

Life  of  Washington. 


The  Travellers. 

Oration  on  tho  Death  of  Adams  and  Jef- 
ferson. 

Sketch  of  Connecticut  forty  years  since. 

Outlines  of  tiie  Principal  Events  in  the  Life 
of  Gener.d  Lafayette. 

Life  of  James  Otis. 

Letters  on  the  Eastern  States. 
Vision  of  Liberty. 

^Oration  on  the  Anniversary  of  the  Boston 
Massacre.     1775. 

Sermons  on  the  Duties  of  an  Americaa 
Citizen. 

War.     A  poem. 


XU  LrST  OF    WORKS. 

Webster.  D.  Speech  on  the  Greek  Question.     1824. 

Address  at  the  Laying  of  the  Corner  Stone 
of  the  Bunker'  Hill    Monument,    1825. 
*'  Discourse,    in     Commemoration     of     the 

Lives  and  Services  of  John  Adams  and 
Thomas  Jefferson,  delivered   at  Faneuil 
Hall,  Boston,  July  15th,  1826. 
VViRT,  W.  Life   of  Patrick  Henry.      Letters  of  the 

British  Spy. 


Periodical  and  Anonymoiu. 

American  Journal  of  Education. 

Atlantic  Souvenir,  for  1827. 

Berkshire   American. 

Columbian  Centinel. 

Evenings  in  N.  England. 

Essays,  Descriptive,  and  Moral,  on  Scenes  in  Italy,  Switzerland, 

AND  France.     By  an  American. 
Fanny.    A  Poem. 

JouH.VAL  OF  A  TouR  IN  Italy,  IN  1821.     By  an  American. 
Inj)ependent  Statesman. 
Lounger. 
Memorial. 

^^oRTH  American  Review. 
Trknton  Emporium. 
United  States  Literary  Gazetti. 
United  States  Review. 


CLASS  BOOK 


AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 


LESSON  I. 

Dialogue  on  Reading  History, — Evenings  in  N.  England. 

Lucy.  Aunt,  I  am  tired  to  death  of  reading  History.  I 
have  been  two  or  three  months  studying  Rollin ; — but  now  I 
have  come  to  live  with  you,  I  trust  you  will  suffer  me  to  em- 
ploy myself  about  something  more  amusing. 

Aunt.  Why,  my  dear  Lucy,  you  have  now  almost  ceased 
to  be  a  child,  and  I  trust  you  are  aware  of  how  much  import- 
ance a  knowledge  of  historical  events  will  prove,  when  you 
come  forward  in  society.  It  is  one  of  those  things,  which  are 
so  common  that  nobody  can  be  tempted  to  be  proud  of  them, 
and  yet  so  necessary,  that  one  ought  certainly  to  blush  for  any 
deficiency. 

Lucy.  So  my  mother  always  told  me  ;  but  I  must  acknow- 
ledge I  am  weary  of  such  kind  of  reading.  All  I  can  remem- 
ber is  a  jumble  of  battles  and  revolutions, — of  kings  murdered 
and  princes  poisoned.  There  are  ever-so-many  Dukes  of 
Buckingham,  and  how  can  I  possibly  recollect  to  distinguish 
between  them  ? 

Aunt.  All  this  confusion  originates  in  a  want  of  judgment 
in  your  course  of  study.  You  should  read,  in  course,  those 
books  which  nearly  relate  to  the  same  period.  If  you  wish 
to  attain  a  knowledge  of  the  sixteenth  century,  for  instance, 
there  are  Charles  V.  Leo  X.  and  the  Life  of  Luther,  which 
are  very  proper  to  be  read  together ;  and  perhaps  a  few  years 
hence,  you  might,  with  advantaore,  add  Villieis  on  the  Reform- 
ation. For  the  present  winter,  however,  I  will  tell  you  of  a 
plan,  which  will  make  History  delighulil  as  well  as  instructive. 

Lucy.  Pray  what  is  it  ? 


14  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  1. 

Aunt,  After  you  have  read  the  reiga  of  any  particular 
king,  I  will  read  some  novel  or  play  immediately  connected 
with  it.  By  this  means,  you  will  no  longer  feel  as  if  you  had 
only  heard  of  the  characters,  but  as  if  you  had  actually  seen 
and  talked  with  them. 

Lucy.  But,  Aunt,  I  have  heard  people  say,  it  was  wicked 
to  read  novels  and  plays. 

Avnt,  It  is,  no  doubt,  wrong  to  read  such  books  very  fre- 
quently,— and  very  unprofitable  to  read  them  at  all,  without 
much  discrimination ;  but  every  thing  is  valuable  according 
to  its  use ;  and  when  the  lighter  kinds  of  reading  serve  to 
impress  something  more  valuable  upon  our  minds,  they  an- 
swer an  exceedingly  good  purpose. 

Lucy,  It  seems  to  me,  there  are  not  many  novels  of  this 
description. 

Aunt.  You  probably  have  seen  a  multitude  of  foolish  ro- 
mantic, worthless  stories ;  and  I  am  heartily  glad  that  you  do 
not  like  them.  But  if  you  will  read  only  such  ones  as  are 
pointed  out  by  judicious  friends,  and,  even  then,  read  them 
v^paringly,  you  might  find  some  of  real  advantage  to  you. 
With  regard  to  the  plan  I  proposed,  I  cannot  furnish  you  with 
either  a  novel  or  a  play,  for  every  reign  in  the  English  history  ; 
but  I  can  for  very  many.  Shakspeare  provides  a  large  fund 
lor  us  on  this  occasion ;  and,  luckily  for  our  purpose,  there  is 
a  Family  Shaksp«are  published,  in  wliich  most  of  the  unin- 
teresting and  useless  parts  are  omitted.  The  evenings  are 
now  perceptibly  lengthening,  and  if  you  will  follow  my  plan, 
I  think  you  will  acknowledge  that  they  have  passed  away 
pleasantly,  as  well  as  profitably. 

Lucy.  Do,  dear  aunt,  let  us  hear  the  whole  of  your  plan ; 
and  what  books  you  think  you  shall  read. 

Aunt.  You  shall  read  Hume's  History  aloud, — and  when- 
ever I  think  of  any  thing  connected  with  the  subject,  we  will 
obtain  it  at  the  library,  and  spend  a  few  evenings  in  becoming 
acquainted  with  the  characters,  to  whom  Mr.  Humo  has 
slightly  introduced  us.  After  we  have  finished  the  reigns  of 
Richard  I.  and  his  successor,  we  will  read  Ivanhoo  and 
Shakspeare's  King  John.  Shakspeare  will  likewise  serve  to 
fix  the  events  connected  with  Henry  IV.  V.  VI.  and  VIII. 
and  likewise  of  the  Second  and  Third  Richard.  Kenilworth 
and  Miss  Aikin's  Court  of  Queen  Elizabeth  will  give  you  a 
correct  idea  of  that  queen,  and  the  persons,  who  were  most 
conspicuous  during  her  reign.  The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  and 
Miss    Aikin's  Court  of  King   James,  faithfully  portray  the 


Lesson  1.]       AM'ERICAN  LITERATURE.  15 

character  of  her  successor ;  and  Peveril  of  the  Peak  makes 
you  well  acqaainted  with  Charles  II.  and  his  gay  favourite, 
the  Duke  of  Buckingham. 

Lucy.  Why  indeed,  Aunt,  I  did  not  think  there  had  been 
so  many  as  you  have  mentioned ;  but  are  there  none  to  assist 
other  countries,  besides  that  of  England  ? 

Aunt.  There  probably  are,  though  I  know  of  but  few. 
When  we  read  Robertson's  Scotland,  The  Abbot  will  increase 
the  interest,  which  he  excites  in  the  story  of  their  last  unfor- 
tunate queen,  Mary  Stuart.  In  order  to  remember  James 
III.  and  his  quarrel  with  the  famous  house  of  Douglas,  w^e 
may  possibly  turn  aside  to  read  the  Lady  of  the  Lake ;  and 
perhaps  I  may  indulge  you  with  Marmion,  that  you  may 
better  recollect  Mary's  grandfather,  James  IV.  who  fell  at 
the  battle  of  Flodden  Field. 

Lucy.  And  are  there  none  connected  with  the  French  ? 

Aunt.  Undoubtedly.  However,  I  know  of  but  three  ;  and 
those  are,  Quentin  Durward,  Jane  of  France,  and  Anne  of 
Bretagne.     They  all  refer  to  very  nearly  the  same  period. 

Lucy.  How  delightful  it  will  be  to  read  all  these  things. 
Do  let  us  begin  Hume  tonight. 

Aunt.  Tomorrow  we  will  commence.  But  there  is  another 
part  to  my  project.  You  must  write  down  all  that  you  remem- 
ber of  any  reign,  and  the  thoughts,  which  the  subject  naturally 
suggests.  This  must  be  done  as  if  you  were  talking  to  a 
companion,  not  as  if  you  were  writing  a  book.  The  more 
you  improve  in  this  task,  tlie  more  willing  I  shall  be  to  devote 
an  evening  to  the  recreations  I  have  mentioned ;  because  I 
shall  be  convinced,  that  you  do  not  hurry  through  your  history 
for  the  sake  of  reading  novels,  plays,  and  poems, — but  that 
you  love  novels,  (S^c.  on  account  of  the  useful  information 
they  afford,  as  well  as  for  their  interesting  stories  and  poetic 
language.  After  all,  you  must  remember  that  there  are  many 
things  necessary  for  you  to  learn,  which  cannot  be  obtained 
except  by  hard  study.  It  is,  no  doubt,  pleasant  ta  find  in- 
struction in  the  train  of  amusement ;  but  she  is  not  always 
there — and  she  is  so  valuable,  that  we  must  be  willing  to 
follow  her  through  long  and  tedious  roads,  now  and  then 
turning  aside  to  rest  on  a  little  spot  covered  with  grass  and 
wild  flowers. 


1^  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  2. 

LESSON  IL 

The  first  Settlement  of  Virginia,  1607. — J.  Davis. 

The  merchants  of  London  having  obtained  a  patent  from 
James  L  to  encourage  discoveries  in  Virginia,  they  fitted  out 
three  vessels,  and  appointed  John  Smith  to  command  the 
expedition ;  a  man  who  had  distinguished  himself  from  his 
earliest  youth  in  the  profession  of  arms ;  for  he  had  not  only 
been  in  several  naval  engagements,  but  had  headed  a  forlorn  , 
hope,  in  an  attack  upon  Olimpach,  and  slain  three  Turks,  in 
single  combat,  at  the  siege  of  Regal. 

The  little  squadron,  placed  under  the  command  of  this 
distinguished  captain,  was  composed  of  one  vessel  of  a  hun- 
dred tons,  another  of  forty,  and  one  of  twenty ;  and  it  was  in 
the  midst  of  winter,  when,  clearing  the  English  channel,  they 
committed  themselves  to  the  mercy  of  the  Atlantic  ocean. 

On  the  twenty-sixth  of  April,  1(>07,  the  little  squadron, 
under  the  direction  of  Captain  Smith,  came  within  sight  of 
the  American  coast ;  and  it  had,  by  accident,  got  into  the 
mouth  of  that  bay,  which  is  now  so  well  known  by  the  name 
of  Chesapeake. 

This  bay  is  the  largest  in  the  world.  The  distance  be- 
tween its  capes  is  about  twelve  miles,  but  it  w  idens,  when 
entered,  till  it  becomes  thirty  miles  in  breadth ;  when  it  di- 
minishes again  to  its  head,  and  is  from  eighteen  to  seven 
miles  broad.  It  is  five  miles  broad  at  its  extremity,  where 
the  Elk  and  Susquehannah  fall  into  it ;  and  here  its  length 
from  the  sea  is  two  hundred  and  seventy  miles,  through  the 
whole  of  which  extent  the  tide  ebbs  and  flows. 

This  mighty  bay  receives  the  streams  of  six  large  rivers 
from  the  west,  all  of  which  are  navigable,  and  have  their 
source  in  the  same  mountains. 

Of  these  the  southernmost  is  James  river,  called  Powhatan 
by  the  natives ;  the  next  York  river,  named  by  the  Indians 
Pamunkey ;  the  third  Rappahannock,  which  preserves  its 
original  title ;  the  fourth  the  Potomac,  distinguished  by  its 
irruption  through  the  Blue  Ridge ;  the  fifth  the  Patuxent, 
remarkable  for  its  red  cliffs ;  the  sixth  the  Petapsco,  called 
by  its  discoverer  the  Bolus ;  and  the  seventh  the  Susquehan- 
nah, the  northernmost  of  all,  and  the  most  serpentine  in  its 
course. 

Of  these  noble  rivers,  several  flow  throuorh  countries  of  vast 
extent,  receiving  in  their  course  a  variety  of  tributary  streams, 


Lesson  2.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  17 

and  watering  a  region  distinguished  by  features  peculiarly 
beautiful  and  sublime. 

The  land,  which  Captain  Smith  had  come  within  sight  of, 
was  uncommonly  low.  It  appeared,  at  a  distance,  like  the 
tops  of  trees  emerging  above  the  water ;  and  as  the  squadron 
approached  the  coast  there  was  not  the  smallest  acclivity 
visible ;  the  prospect  never  rising  above  the  height  of  the 
pines,  which  everywhere  covered  the  soil. 

Of  the  promontories  of  the  bay.  Captain  Smith  named  the 
southernmost  Cape  Henry,  and  the  northernmost  Cape 
Charles ;  in  compliment  to  the  sons  of  the  reigning  monarch ; 
and  though  the  vessels  dropt  frequently  their  anchors,  yet 
sixteen  days  were  spent  in  seeking  a  proper  place  for  their 
first  settlement. 

The  shores  were  now  lined  with  the  natives,  who  gazed 
with  ineffable  astonishment  at  the  squadron  under  sail,  and 
prostrated  themselves  at  the  thunder  of  their  cannon.  Their 
wonder  may  be  conceived  at  the  sight  of  a  ship.  They  were 
confounded  to  see  the  monster  come  sailing  into  their  harbour, 
and  spitting  fire  with  a  mighty  noise  out  of  her  floating  side. 

Captain  Smith  went  on  shore  in  his  boat,  and  was  kindly 
received  by  the  natives,  who  invited  him  and  his  companions 
to  their  town,  Kecoughtan,  where  Hampton  is  now  built.  It 
was  situated  at  the  head  of  a  spacious  bay,  which  ran  up 
north  from  the  mouth  of  Powhatan  river,  and  is  now  so  popular 
under  the  name  of  Hampton  Roads.  Here  they  were  feasted 
on  cakes  made  of  Indian  corn,  and  regaled  with  tobacco  and 
a  dance. 

Proceeding  up  the  river,  another  company  of  Indians  ap- 
peared in  arms ;  and  their  chief,  Apamatica,  holding  in  one 
hand  his  bow  and  arrow,  and  in  the  other  a  pipe  of  tobacco, 
demanded  the  cause  of  their  coming ;  they  made  signs  of 
peace,  and  were  hospitably  received. 

Having  searched  the  whole  of  the  river  Powhatan,  Captain 
Srrith,  on  the  13th  of  May,  with  the  unanimous  consent  of  the 
colonists,  made  choice  of  a  peninsula,  where  the  ships  could 
lie  moored  to  the  trees,  as  the  place  of  their  intended  settle- 
ment. Here  they  were  visited  by  Pasipha,  another  Indian 
chief;  who,  being  made  acquainted  with  their  design,  offered 
them  as  much  land  as  they  wanted.  On  this  spot  the  colonists 
built  their  huts,  and  Captain  Smith  threw  up  a  small  Ibrt,  in 
the  form  of  a  half-moon,  which  he  barricaded  w^ith  trunks  of 
trees.  To  their  settlement  they  very  consistently  gave  the 
2* 


18  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  3. 

name  of  James  Town ;  and,  in  the  same  spirit  of  compliment, 
dignified  Powhatan  with  the  title  of  James  river. 

After  five  weeks'  stay  before  the  town,  the  ships,  having 
recruited  their  wood  and  water,  set  sail  again  for  England  ; 
leaving  one  hundred  and  eight  adventurers  to  establish  the 
colony. 


LESSON  IIL 
First  Settlement  of  New  England^  1620. — E.  Everett. 

Could  a  common  calculation  of  policy  have  dictated  the 
terms  of  that  settlement,  no  doubt  our  foundations  would  have 
been  laid  be  iieath  the  royal  smile.  Convoys  and  navies  would 
have  been  solicited,  to  waft  our  fathers  to  the  coast ;  armies, 
to  defend  tlie  iufant  communities  ;  and  the  flattering  patron- 
age of  princes  and  lords,  to  espouse  their  interests  in  the  coun- 
cils of  the  mother  country. 

Happy,  tliat  our  fathers  enjoyed  no  such  patronage;  happy, 
that  they  fell  into  no  such  protecting  hands  ;  happy,  that  our 
foundations  were  silently  and  deeply  cast  in  quiet  insignifi- 
cance, beneath  a  charter  of  banishment,  persecution,  and  con- 
tempt ;  so  that  when  the  royal  arm  was  at  length  outstretched 
against  us,  instead  of  a  submissive  child,  tied  down  by  former 
ijjraces,  it  found  a  youthful  giant  in  the  land,  born  amidst  hard- 
ships, and  nourished  on  the  rocks,  indebted  for  no  favours,  and 
owing  no  duty. 

From  the  dark  portals  of  the  star  chamber,  and  in  the  stern 
texts  of  the  acts  of  uniformity,  the  pilgrims  received  a  com- 
mission, more  efficient,  than  any  that  ever  bore  the  royal  seal. 
Their  banishment  to  Holland  was  fortunate  ;  the  decline  of 
their  little  company  in  the  strange  land  was  fortunate ;  the 
difficulties,  which  they  experienced,  in  getting  the  royal  con- 
sent to  banish  themselves  to  this  wilderness,  were  fortunate  ; 
all  the  tears  and  heart-breakings  of  that  ever  memorable  part- 
ing at  Delfthaven,  had  the  happiest  influence  on  the  rising 
destinies  of  New  England. 

All  this  purified  the  ranks  of  the  settlers.  These  rough 
touches  of  fortune  brushed  off*  the  light,  uncertain,  selfish 
spirits.  They  made  it  a  grave,  solemn,  self-denying  expedi- 
tion, and  required  of  those,  who  engaged  in  it,  to  be  so  too. 
They  cast  a  broad  shadow  of  thought  and  seriousness  over 


Lesson  3.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  19 

the  cause,  and  if  this  sometimes  deepened  into  melancholy 
and  bitterness,  can  we  find  no  apology  for  such  a  human  weak- 
ness ? 

It  is  sad  indeed  to  reflect  on  the  disasters,  which  the  little 
band  of  pilgrims  encountered.  Sad  to  see  a  portion  of  them, 
the  prey  of  unrelenting  cupidity,  treacherously  embarked  in 
an  unsound,  unseaworthy  ship,  which  they  are  soon  obliged 
to  abandon,  and  crowd  themselves  into  one  vessel ;  one  hun- 
dred persons,  besides  the  ship's  company,  in  a  vessel  of  one 
hundred  and  sixty  tons.  One  is  touched  at  the  story  of  the 
long,  cold,  and  weary  autumnal  passage  ;  of  the  landing  on 
the  inhospitable  rocks  at  this  dismal  season  ;  where  they  are 
deserted,  before  long,  by  the  ship  which  liad  brought  them, 
and,  which  seemed  their  only  hold  upon  tlie  world  of  fellow- 
men,  a  prey  to  the  elements  and  to  want,  and  fearfully  igno- 
rant of  the  numbers,  of  the  power,  and  the  temper  of  the 
savage  tribes,  that  filled  the  unexplored  continent,  upon  whose 
verge  they  had  ventured. 

But  all  this  wrought  together  for  good.  These  trials  of  wan- 
dering and  exile  of  the  ocean,  the  winter,  the  wilderness,  and 
the  savage  foe  were  the  final  assurance  of  success.  It  was 
these,  that  put  far  away  from  our  father's  cause,  all  patrician 
softness,  all  hereditary  claims  to  pre-eminence. 

No  effeminate  nobility  crowded  into  the  dark  and  austere 
ranks  of  the  pilgrims.  No  Carr  nor  Villiers  would  load  on 
the  ill  provided  liand  of  despised  Puritans.  No  well  endowed 
clergy  were  on  the  alert,  to  quit  their  cathedrals,  and  set  up 
a  pompous  hierarchy  in  the  frozen  wilderness.  No  craving 
governours  were  anxious  to  be  sent  over  to  our  cheerless  El 
Dorados  of  ice  and  of  snow. 

No,  they  could  not  say  they  had  encouraged,  patronised,  or 
helped  the  pilgrims  ;  their  own  cares,  their  ov/n  labours,  their 
own  counsels,  their  own  blood,  contrived  all,  achieved  all, 
bore  all,  sealed  all.  They  could  not  afterwards  fairly  pretend 
to  reap  where  they  had  not  strewn  ;  and  as  our  fathers  reared 
this  broad  and  solid  fabric  with  pains  and  watchfulness,  un- 
aided, barely  tolerated,  it  did  not  fall,  when  the  favour,  which 
had  always  been  withholden,  was  changed  into  wrath  ;  when 
the  arm,  which  Lad  never  supported,  was  raised  to  destroy. 

Methinks  I  see  it  now,  that  one  solitary,  adventurous  ves- 
sel, the  Mayflower  of  a  forlorn  hope,  freighted  with  the  pros- 
pects of  a  future  state,  and  bound  across  the  unknown  sea.  I 
behold  it  pursuing,  with  a  thousand  misgivings,  the  uncertain, 
tlie  tedious  voyage.     Suns  rise  and  set,  and  weeks  and  months 


20  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  3. 

pass,  and  winter  surprises  them  on  the  deep,  but  brings  them 
not  the  sight  of  the  wished  for  shore. 

I  see  them  now,  scantily  supplied  with  provisions,  crowded 
almost  to  suffocation  in  their  ill  stored  prison,  delayed  by  calms, 
pursuing  a  circuitous  route — and  now  driven  in  fuiy  before  the 
raging  tempest,  on  the  high  and  giddy  waves.  The  awful 
voice  of  the  storm  howls  through  the  rigging.  Tlie  labour- 
ing masts  seem  straining  from  their  base — the  dismal  sound  of 
the  pumps  is  heard — the  ship  leaps,  as  it  were,  madly,  from 
billow  to  billow — the  ocean  breaks,  and  settles  with  engulph- 
ing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and  beats  with  deadening, 
shivering  weight,  against  the  staggered  vessel. 

I  see  them,  escaped  from  these  perils,  pursuing  their  all  but 
desperate  undertaking,  and  landed  at  last,  after  a  five  months' 
passage,  on  the  ice  clad  rocks  of  Plymouth — weak  and  weary 
from  the  voyage — poorly  armed,  scantily  provisioned,  depend- 
ing on  the  charity  of  their  sliip-master  for  a  draught  of  beer 
on  board,  drinking  nothing  but  water  on  shore — without  shel- 
ter— without  means — surrounded  by  hostile  tribes. 

Shut  now  the  volume  of  history,  and  tell  me,  on  any  princi- 
ple of  human  probability,  what  shall  be  the  fate  of  this  hand- 
ful of  adventurers.  Tell  me,  man  of  military  science,  in  how 
many  montlis  were  they  all  swept  off  by  the  thirty  savage  tribes, 
enumerated  within  the  early  limits  of  New  England  ?  Tell 
me,  politician,  how  long  did  this  shadow  of  a  colony,  on  which 
your  conventions  and  treaties  had  not  smiled,  languish  on  the 
distant  coast  I 

Student  of  history,  compare  for  me  the  bafl^ed  projects,  the 
deserted  settlements,  the  abandoned  adventures  of  other  times, 
and  find  the  parallel  of  this.  Was  it  the  winter's  storm,  beat- 
ing ujK)n  the  houseless  heads  of  women  and  children  ?  was  it 
hard  labour  and  spare  meals — was  it  disease — was  it  the  toma- 
hawk— was  it  the  deep  malady  of  a  blighted  hope,  a  ruined 
enterprise  and  a  broken  heart,  aching  in  its  last  moments,  at 
the  recollection  of  the  loved  and  left  beyond  the  sea ;  was  it 
some  or  all  of  these  united,  that  hurried  this  forsaken  company 
to  their  melancholy  fate  1 

And  is  it  possible  that  neither  of  these  causes,  that  not  all 
combined,  were  able  to  blast  this  bud  of  hope  ?  Is  it  possible, 
that  from  a  beginning  so  feeble,  so  frail,  so  v/orthy,  not  so 
much  of  admiration  as  of  pity,  there  has  gone  forth  a  progress 
so  stv^ady,  a  growth  so  wonderfal,  an  expansion  so  antple,  a 
reality  so  important,  a  promise,  yet  to  be  fulfilled,  so  glorious  1 


Lcssoti  4.]         AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  21 

LESSON  IV. 

The  Golden  Age  of  Neiv  Yorlc,  under  the  Dutch  Governour^ 
Wouter  Van   Twiller, — Washington  Irving. 

I  WILL  not  grieve  the  patience  of  my  readers,  by  describ- 
ing minutely  the  increase  and  improvement  of  New  Amster- 
dam. Their  own  imaginations  will  doubtless  present  to  them 
the  good  burghers,  like  so  many  pains-taking  and  persevering 
beavers,  slowly  and  surely  pursuing  their  labours — they  will 
behold  the  prosperous  transformation  from  the  rude  log  hut 
to  the  stately  Dutch  mansion,  with  brick  front,  glazed  win- 
dows, and  tiled  roof — from  the  tangled  thicket  to  the  luxu- 
riant cabbage  garden ;  and  from  the  skulking  Indian  to  the 
ponderous  burgomaster.  In  a  word,  they  will  picture  to 
themselves  the  steady,  silent,  and  undeviating  march  to  pros- 
perity, incident  to  a  city  destitute  of  pride  or  ambition, 
cherished  by  a  fat  government,  and  whose  citizens  do  noth- 
ing in  a  hurry. 

The  sage  council,  not  being  able  to  determine  upon  any 
plan  for  building  of  their  city— the  cows,  in  a  laudable  fit  of 
patriotism,  took  it  under  their  peculiar  charge,  and  as  they 
went  to  and  from  pasture,  established  paths  through  the 
bushes,  on  each  side  of  which  the  good  folks  built  their 
houses ;  which  is  one  cause  of  the  rambling  and  picturesque 
turns  and  labyrinths,  which  distinguish  certain  streets  of 
New  York  at  this  very  day. 

The  houses  of  the  higher  class  v/ere  generally  constructed 
of  wood,  excepting  the  gable  end,  which  vvas  of  small  black 
and  yellow  Dutch  bricks,  and  always  faced  on  the  street,  as 
our  ancestors,  like  their  descendants,  were  very  much  given 
to  outward  sliow,  and  were  noted  for  putting  the  best  foot 
foremost.  The  house  was  always  furnished  with  abundance 
of  large  doors  and  small  windows  on  every  floor,  the  date  of 
its  erection  v/as  curiously  designated,  by  iron  figures  on  the 
front,  and  on  the  top  of  the  roof,  was  perched  a  fierce  little 
weathercock,  to  let  the  family  into  the  important  secret, 
which  way  the  wind  blew.  These,  like  the  weathercocks 
on  the  tops  of  our  steeples,  pointed  so  many  different  ways, 
that  every  man  could  have  a  wind  to  his  mind ; — the  most 
stanch  and  loyal  citizens,  however,  always  went  according 
to  the  weathercock  on  tlie  top  of  the  governour's  house,  which 
was  certainly  the  most  correct,  as  he  had  a  trusty  servant 
employed  every  morning  to  climb  up  and  set  it  to  the  right 
quarter. 


32  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  4. 

In  those  good  days  of  simplicity  and  sunshine,  a  passion 
for  cleanliness  was  the  leading  principle  in  domestic  econo- 
my, and  the  universal  test  of  an  able  housewife — a  character, 
which  formed  the  utmost  ambition  of  our  unenli^rhtened 
grandmothers.  The  front  door  was  never  opened  except  on 
marriages,  funerals,  new  year's  days,  the  festival  of  St.  Nich- 
olas, or  some  such  great  occasion.  It  was  ornamented  with 
a  gorgeous  brass  knocker,  curiously  wrought,  sometimes  in 
the  device  of  a  dog,  and  sometimes  of  a  lion's  head,  and  was 
daily  burnished  with  such  religious  zeal,  that  it  was  ofttimes 
worn  out,  by  the  very  precautions  taken  for  its  preservation. 
The  whole  house  was  constantly  in  a  state  of  inundation, 
under  the  discipline  of  mops  and  brooms  and  scrubbing 
brushes;  and  the  good  housewives  of  those  days  were  a  kind 
of  amphibious  animal,  delighting  exceedingly  to  be  dabbling 
in  water — insomuch  that  an  historian  of  the  day  gravely  tells 
us,  that  many  of  his  townswomen  grew  to  have  webbed 
fingers  like  unto  a  duck  ;  but  this  I  look  ujjon  to  be  a  mere 
sport  of  fancy,  or  what  is  worse,  a  wilful  misrepresentation. 

The  grand  parlour  was  the  place,  where  the  passion 
for  cleaning  was  indulged  without  controul.  In  this  sacred 
apartment  no  one  was  permitted  to  enter,  excepting  the 
mistress  and  her  confidential  maid,  who  visited  it  once  a 
week,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  it  a  thorough  cleaning,  and 
putting  things  to  rights — always  taking  the  precaution  of 
leaving  their  shoes  at  the  door,  and  entering  on  their 
stocking  feet.  After  scrubbing  the  floor,  sprinkling  it  with 
fine  white  sand,  which  was  curiously  stroked  into  angles, 
and  curves,  and  rhomboids,  with  a  broom — after  wash- 
ing the  windows,  rubbing  and  polishing  the  furniture,  and 
putting  a  new  bunch  of  evergreens  in  the  iire-]>lace — the 
window  shutters  were  again  closed,  to  keep  out  the  flies, 
and  the  room  carefully  locked  up  until  the  revolution  of  time 
brought  round  the  weekly  cleaning  day. 

As  to  the  family,  they  always  entered  in;  at  the  gate,  and 
most  generally  lived  in  the  kitchen.  To  have  seen  a  nume- 
rous household  assembled  around  the  fire,  one  v/ould  have 
imagined,  that  he  was  transported  back  to  those  happy  days 
of  primeval  simplicity,  which  float  before  our  imaginations 
like  golden  visions.  The  fire-places  were  of  truly  patriarchal 
magnitude,  where  the  whole  family,  old  and  young,  master 
and  servant,  black  and  white,  nay,  even  the  very  cat  and 
dog,  enjoyed  a  community  of  privilege,  and  had  each  a  right 
to  a  corner.     Here   the  old   burgher  would   sit  in  perfect 


Lesson  4.]         AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  38 

silence,  puffing  his  pipe,  looking  on  the  fire  with  half  shut 
eyes,  and  thinking  of  nothing  for  hours  together ;  the  good 
woman  on  the  opposite  side  would  employ  herself  diligently 
in  spinning  yarn,  or  knitting  stockings.  The  young  folks 
Avould  crowd  around  the  hearth,  listening  with  breathless 
attention  to  some  old  crone  of  a  negro,  who  was  the  oracle 
of  the  family,  and  who,  perched  like  a  raven  in  a  corner  of 
the  chimney,  would  croak  forth  for  a  long  wintei  afternoon 
a  string  of  incredible  stories  about  New  England  witches — 
grisly  ghosts,  horses  witiiout  heads — and  hairbreadth  escapes 
and  bloody  encounters  among  the  Indians. 
■  In  those  happy  days  a  well  regulated  family  always  rose 
with  the  dawn,  dmed  at  eleven,  and  went  to  bed  at  sun  down. 
Dinner  was  invariably  a  private  meal,  and  the  fat  old  bur- 
ghers showed  incontestible  sympt<:)ms  of  disapprobation  and 
uneasiness,  at  being  surprised,  by  a  visit  from  a  neighbour,  on 
such  occasions.  But  though  our  worthy  ancestors  were  thus 
singularly  averse  to  giving  dinners,  yet  they  kept  up  the 
social  bands  of  intimacy  by  occasional  banquetings,  called 
tea  parties. 

*  These  fashionable  parties  were  generally  confined  to  the 
higher  classes,  o?  nobility,  that  is  to  say,  such  as  kept  their 
own  cows,  and  drove  their  own  wagons.  The  company 
commonly  assembled  at  three  o'clock,  and  went  away  about 
six,  unless  it  was  in  winter  tiiiie,  when  the  fashionable  hours 
were  a  little  earlier,  that  the  ladies  might  get  home  before 
dark.  The  tea  table  was  crowned  with  a  huge  earthen  dish, 
well  stored  with  slices  of  fat  pork,  fried  brown,  cut  up  into 
morsels,  and  swimming  in  gravy.  The  company,  being  seat- 
ed around  the  genial  board,  and  each  furnished  with  a  fork, 
evinced  their  dexterity  in  launching  at  the  fattest  pieces  in 
this  mighty  dish — in  much  the  same  manner  as  sailors  har- 
poon porpoises  at  sea,  or  our  Indians  spear  salmon  in  the 
lakes.  Soinetimes  the  table  was  graced  with  immense  apple 
pies,  or  saucers  full  of  preserved  peaches  and  pears :  but  it 
was  always  sure  to  boast  an  enormous  dish  of  balls  of  sweet- 
ened dough,  fried  in  hog's  fat,  and  called  douiJ^h-nuts. — a 
delicious  kind  of  cake,  at  present  scarce  known  in  the  city, 
excepting  in  genuine  Dutch  families. 

The  tea  was  served  out  of  a  majestic  dolf  teapot,  ornament- 
ed with  paintings  of  fat  little  Dutch  shepherds  and  shepherd- 
esses tending  pios — with  boats  sailing  in  the  air,  and  nouses 
built  in  the  clouds,  and  sundry  other  ingenious  Dutch  fmta- 
sies.     The  beaux  distinguished  themselves,  by  their  adroit- 


24  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  5. 

ness  in  replenishing  this  pot,  from  a  huge  copper  tea  kettle, 
which  would  have  made  the  pigmy  macaronies  of  these  degen- 
erate days  sweat  merely  to  look  at  it.  To  sweeten  the  beverage, 
a  lump  of  sugar  was  laid  beside  each  cup — and  the  company 
alternately  nibbled  and  sipped  with  great  decorum,  until  an 
improvement  was  introduced  by  a  shrewd  and  economic  old 
lady,  which  was  to  suspend  a  large  lump  directly  over  the  tea 
table,  by  a  string  from  the  ceiling,  so  that  it  could  be  swung 
from  mouth  to  mouth. 

At  these  primitive  tea  parties  the  utmost  propriety  and 
dignity  of  deportment  prevailed.  No  flirting  nor  coquetting — 
no  gambling  of  old  ladies  nor  hoyden  chattering  and  romp- 
ing of  young  ones — no  self  satisfied  struttings  of  wealthy 
gentlemen,  with  their  brains  in  their  pockets — nor  amusing 
conceits,  and  monkey  divertisements,  of  smart  young  gentle- 
men, with  no  brains  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  the  young 
ladies  seated  themselves  demurely  in  their  rush-bottomed 
chairs,  and  knit  their  own  woollen  stockings ;  nor  ever  open- 
ed their  lips,  excepting  to  say.  Yes  Sir,  or  Yes  Madam,  to 
any  question  that  was  asked  them ;  behaving  in  all  things, 
like  decent,  well  educated  damsels.  As  to  the  gentlemen, 
each  of  them  tranquilly  smoked  his  pipe,  aiid  seemed  lost  in 
contemplation  of  the  blue  and  white  tiles,  with  which  the  fire 
places  were  decorated. 

The  parties  broke  up  without  noise  and  without  confusion. 
They  were  carried  home  by  their  own  carriages,  that  is  to 
say,  by  the  vehicles  nature  had  provided  them,  excepting 
such  of  the  wealthy  as  could  afford  to  keep  a  wagon.  The 
gentlemen  gallantly  attended  their  fair  ones  to  their  respec- 
tive abodes,  and  took  leave  of  them  at  the  door. 


LESSON  V. 

Poor  Richard's  humorous  Account  of  his  Rivals  in  Alma- 
nack making, — Franklin. 

Courteous  Reader, 
This  is  the  ninth  year  of  my  endeavours  to  serve  thee  in  the 
capacity  of  a  calendar-writer.  The  encouragement  I  have 
met  with,  must  be  ascribed,  in  a  great  measure,  to  your  charity, 
excited  by  the  open,  honest  declaration  I  made  of  my  poverty, 
at  my  first  appearance.    This  my  brother  Philomaths  could, 


Lesson  5.J       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  «5 

without  being  conjurers,  discover ;  and  poor  Richard^s  suc- 
cess has  produced  ye  a  poor  Will,  and  a  poor  Robin  ;  and  no 
doubt  poor  John,  &/C.  will  follow ;  and  we  shall  be  in  name, 
what  some  folks  say  .we  are  already  in  fact,  a  parcel  of  poor 
almanack-makers. 

During  the  course  of  these  nine  years,  what  buifettings 
have  I  not  sustained  !  The  fraternity  have  been  in  arms. 
Honest  Titan,  deceased,  was  raised  and  made  to  abuse  his  old 
friend.  Both  authors  and  printers  were  angry.  Hard  names, 
and  many,  were  bestowed  on  me.  They  denied  me  to  be  the 
author  of  my  own  works  ;  declared  there  never  was  any  such 
person ;  asserted  that  I  was  dead  sixty  years  ago ;  prognos- 
ticated my  death  to  happen  within  a  twelve-month ;  with 
many  other  malicious  inconsistencies,  the  eifects  of  blind  pas- 
sion, envy  at  my  success,  and  a  vain  hope  of  depriving  me, 
dear  reader,  of  thy  wonted  countenance  and  favour. 

Who  knows  him  7  they  cry.  Where  does  he  live  ? — 
But  what  is  that  to  them  ?  If  I  delight  in  a  private  life, 
have  they  any  right  to  drag  me  out  of  my  retirement  ?  I  have 
good  reasons  for  concealing  the  place  of  my  abode.  It  is 
time  for  an  old  man,  as  I  am,  to  think  of  preparing  for  his 
great  remove.  The  perpetual  teasing  of  both  neighbours  and 
strangers,  to  calculate  nativities,  give  judgments  on  schemes, 
and  erect  figures,  discover  thieves,  detect  horse-stealers,  de- 
scribe the  routs  of  runaways  and  strayed  cattle  ;  the  crowd  of 
visitors,  with  a  thousand  trifling  questions  ; — Will  my  ship 
return  safe  ?  Will  my  horse  win  the  race  ?  When  will  my 
wife  die  1  Who  shall  be  my  husband  ?  and  how  long  first  1 
When  is  the  best  time  to  cut  hair,  or  sow  sallad  ?  These, 
and  the  like  impertinences,  I  have  now  neither  taste  nor 
leisure  for.  I  have  had  enough  of  them.  All  that  these 
angry  folks  could  say,  will  never  provoke  me  to  tell  them 
where  I  live.     I  would  eat  my  nails  first. 

My  last  adversary  is  J.  J*****n,  philomat.  who  declares 
and  protests  that  the  false  prophecy  put  in  my  almanack  con- 
cerning him,  the  year  before,  is  altogether  false  and  untrue ; 
and  that  I  am  one  of  Baal's  false  prophets.  This  false,  false 
prophecy  he  speaks  of,  related  to  his  reconciliation  with  the 
church  of  Rome ;  which,  notwithstanding  his  declaring  and 
protesting,  is,  I  fear,  too  true.  Two  things  in  his  elegiac 
verses  confirm  me  in  this  suspicion.  He  calls  the  first  of 
November,  All-Hallows-day.  Reader,  does  not  this  smell  of 
popery  ?     Does  it,  in  the  least,  savour  of  the  pure  language  of 


96  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  6. 

friends  ?     But  the  plainest  thing  is,  his  adoration  of  saints, 
which  he  confesses  to  be  his  practice,  in  these  words, 


When  any  trouble,  did  me  befal, 
To  my  dear  JVJary,  then  I  would 


call. 


Did  he  think  the  whole  world  were  so  stupid  as  not  to  take 
notice  of  this  ?  So  ignorant,  as  not  to  know,  that  all  catholics 
pay  the  highest  regard  to  the  Virgin  Mary  ?  Ah !  friend 
John,  we  must  allow  you  to  be  a  poet,  but  you  are  certainly 
no  protestant.  I  could  heartily  wish  your  religion  were  as 
good  as  your  verses.  Richard  Saunders. 


LESSON  VL 

Origin  of  the  American  Revolution, — Cooper. 

The  increasing  wealth  of  the  provinces  had  attracted  the 
notice  of  the  English  ministry,  so  early  as  the  year  1763.  In 
that  year,  the  first  effort  to  raise  a  revenue,  which  was  to  meet 
the  exigencies  of  the  empire,  was  attempted  by  the  passage  of 
a  law  to  im]>ose  a  duty  on  certain  stamped  paper,  which  was 
made  necessary  to  give  validity  to  contracts.  This  method  of 
raising  a  revenue,  was  not  new  in  itself,  nor  was  the  imposi- 
tion heavy  in  amount.  But  the  Americans,  not  less  sagacious 
than  wary,  perceived  at  a  glance  the  importance  of  the  prin- 
ciples, involved  in  the  admission  of  a  right,  as  belonging  to  any 
body,  to  lay  taxes,  in  which  they  were  not  represented.  The 
question  was  not  without  its  difficulties,  but  the  direct  and 
plain  argument  was  clearly  on  the  side  of  the  colonists. 

Aware  of  the  force  of  their  reasons,  and  perhaps  a  little 
conscious  of  the  strength  of  their  numbers,  they  approached 
the  subject  with  a  spirit,  which  betokened  this  consciousness, 
but  with  a  coolness,  that  denoted  the  firmness  of  their  pur- 
pose. After  a  struggle  of  nearly  two  years,  during  which  the 
law  was  rendered  completely  profitless,  by  the  unanimity  among 
the  people,  as  well  as  by  a  species  of  good-humoured  violence, 
that  rendered  it  exceedingly  inconvenient,  and  perhaps  a  little 
dangerous,  to  the  servants  of  the  crown,  to  exercise  their  ob- 
noxious functipns,  the  ministry  abandoned  the  measure.  But, 
at  the  same  time  that  the  law  was  repealed,  the  parliament 
maintained  its  right  to  bind  the  colonies,  in  all  cases  whatso- 
ever, by  recording  a  resolution  to  that  effect  in  its  journals. 


Lesson  6.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  27 

That  an  empire,  whose  several  parts  were  separated  by 
oceans,  and  whose  interests  were  so  often  conflicting,  should 
become  unwieldy,  and  fall,  in  time,  by  its  own  weight,  was  an 
event  that  all  wise  men  must  have  expected  to  arrive.  But, 
that  the  Americans  did  not  contemplate  such  a  division,  at  that 
early  day,  may  be  fairly  inferred,  if  there  were  no  other  testi- 
mony in  the  matter,  by  the  quiet  and  submission  that  pervaded 
the  colonies  the  instant  that  the  repeal  of  the  stamp  act  was 
known.  Had  any  desire  for  premature  independence  existed, 
the  parliament  had  unwisely  furnished  abundant  fuel,  to  feed 
the  flame,  in  the  very  resolution  already  mentioned.  But, 
satisfied  with  the  solid  advantages  they  had  secured,  peaceful 
in  their  habits,  and  loyal  in  their  feelings,  the  colonists  laugh- 
ed at  the  empty  dignity  of  their  self-constituted  rulers,  while 
they  congratulated  each  other  on  their  own  more  substantial 
success. 

If  the  besotted  servants  of  the  king  had  learnt  wisdom 
by  the  past,  the  storm  would  have  blown  over.  Things 
were  hardly  suffered,  however,  to  return  to  their  own  chan- 
nels again,  before  the  ministry  attempted  to  revive  their 
claims  by  new  impositions.  The  design  to  raise  a  revenue 
had  been  defeated,  in  the  case  of  the  stamp  act,  by  the  refusal 
of  the  colonists  to  use  the  paper ;  but  in  the  present  instance, 
expedients  were  adopted,  which,  it  was  thought,  would  be 
more  effective — as  in  the  case  of  tea,  where  the  duty  was  paid 
by  the  East-India  Company,  in  the  first  instance,  and  the  ex- 
action was  to  be  made  on  the  Americans,  through  their  ap- 
petites. 

These  new  innovations  on  their  rights,  were  met  by  the  co- 
lonists with  the  same  promptitude,  but  with  much  more  of  seri- 
ousness, than  in  the  former  instances.  All  the  provinces  south 
of  the  Great  Lakes,  acted  in  concert  on  this  occasion ;  and 
preparations  were  made  to  render,  not  only  their  remonstrances 
and  petitions  more  impressive  by  a  unity  of  action,  but  their 
more  serious  struggles  also,  should  an  appeal  to  force  become 
necessary.  The  tea  was  stored  or  sent  back  to  England,  in 
most  cases,  though  in  the  town  of  Boston,  a  concurrence  of 
circumstances  led  to  the  violent  measure,  on  the  part  of  the 
people,  of  throwing  a  large  quantity  of  the  offensive  article 
into  the  sea.  To  punish  this  act,  which  took  place  in  the  early 
part  of  1774,  the  port  of  Boston  was  closed,  ^d  different 
laws  were  enacted  in  parliament,  which  werlRntended  to 
bring  the  people  back  to  a  sense  of  their  dependence  on  the 
British  power. 


28  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lei^son 


LESSON  vn. 

Extract  from  Dr,  Mayheio's  Sermon  on  the  Repeal  of  the 
Stamj)  Act.     1766. 

[Dr.  Mayhew  was  descended  from  the  first  proprietor  of 
Martha's  Vineyard,  and  his  family  have  furnished  several  men 
of  piety  and  talents.  He  was  extensively  known  in  America, 
and  perhaps  still  more  so  in  Europe,  by  the  bold  and  vigorous 
character  of  his  writings.  Among  these  was  a  sermon  on 
the  anniversary  of  *•  Charles  the  Martyr,"  preached  in  the 
year  1750,  which  went  through  several  editions  in  Euro|)e, 
as  well  as  this  country  ;  and  its  wit,  sarcasm  and  unhesitating 
assertion  of  the  highest  principles  of  freedom,  made  all,  who 
read  it,  foes,  or  admirers.  The  sermon,  from  which  this  ex- 
tract was  made,  may  be  considered  the  dying  testimony  of 
Dr.  Mayhew.  It  was  delivered  on  Friday,  May  23d,  1766, 
and  he  died  on  the  8th  July  following,  in  the  forty-sixth  year 
of  his  age.  His  printed  sermons  form  several  volumes.— 
Tudor,] 

"  We  have  never  known  so  quick  and  general  a  transition 
from  the  depth  of  sorrow  to  the  height  of  joy,  as  on  this  occa- 
sion :  nor  indeed,  so  universal  a  flow  of  either,  on  any  occa- 
sion whatever.  It  is  true,  we  have  heretofore  seen  times  of 
great  adversity.  We  have  known  seasons  of  drought,  dearth, 
and  spreading  mortal  diseases ;  the  pestilence  walking  in 
darkness,  and  destruction  wasting  at  noonday.  We  have  seen 
devastations  made  by  fire  ;  and  amazing  tempests,  the  heaven 
on  flames — the  winds  and  waves  roaring.  We  have  known 
repeated  earthquakes,  threatening  us  with  destruction.  We 
have  known  times,  when  the  French  and  savage  armies  made 
terrible  havock  on  our  frontiers,  carrying  all  before  them  for  a 
while  ;  when  we  have  not  been  without  fear,  that  some  capital 
towns  in  the  colonies  would  fall  into  their  merciless  hands. 

Such  times  as  these  we  have  known  ;  at  some  of  which, 
almost  every  "  face  gathered  paleness,"  and  the  knees  of  all, 
but  the  good  and  brave,  waxed  feeble.  But  never  have  we 
known  a  season  of  such  universal  consternation  and  anxiety, 
among  peouk  of  all  ranks  and  ages,  in  these  colonies,  as  was 
occasioned  "  that  parliamentary  procedure,  which  threatened 
us  and  our  posterity  witli  perpetual  bondage  and  slavery. 


Lesson  7.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  ^9 

For  they,  as  we  generally  suppose,  are  really  slaves,  to  all 
intents  and  purposes,  who  are  obliged  to  labour  and  toil  only 
for  the  benefit  of  others  ;  or,  which  comes  to  the  same  thing, 
the  fruit  of  whose  labour  and  industry,  may  be  lawfully  taken 
from  them,  without  their  consent,  and  they  justly  punished,  if 
they  refuse  to  surrender  it  on  demand,  or  apply  it  to  other 
purposes  than  those,  which  their  masters,  for  their  mere  grace 
and  pleasure,  see  fit  to  allow. 

Now  are  there  many  American  understandings  acute  enough 
to  distinguish  any  material  difference,  between  this  being  done 
by  a  single  person,  under  the  title  of  an  absolute  monarch, 
and  done  by  a  far  distant  legislature  consisting  of  many  per- 
sons, in  which  they  are  not  represented  ;  and  the  members 
whereof,  instead  of  feeling  and  sharing,  equally  with  them,  in 
the  burden  thus  imposed,  are  eased  of  their  own  in  propor- 
tion to  the  greatness  and  weight  of  it. 

It  may  be  questioned,  whether  the  ancient  Greeks  or  Ro- 
mans, or  any  other  nation,  in  which  slavery  was  allowed,  car- 
ried their  idea  of  it  much  farther  than  this.  So  that  our  late 
apprehensions,  and  universal  consternation,  on  account  of  our- 
selves and  posterity,  were  far,  very  far  indeed,  from  being 
groundless.  For  what  is  there  in  the  world  more  wretched, 
than  for  those  who  were  born  free,  and  have  a  right  to  con- 
tinue so,  to  be  made  slaves  themselves,  and  to  think  of  leaving 
a  race  of  slaves  behind  them ;  even  though  it  be  to  masters 
confessedly  the  most  humane  and  generous  in  the  world  ?  Or 
what  wonder  is  it,  if,  after  groaning  with  a  low  voice,  for  a 
while,  to  no  purpose,  we  at  length  groaned  so  loudly,  as  to  be 
lieard  more  than  three  thousand  miles;  and  to  be  pitied 
throughout  Europe,  wherever  it  is  not  hazardous  to  mention 
even  the  name  of  liberty,  unless  it  be  to  reproach  it,  as  only 
another  name  for  sedition,  faction  or  rebellion  ? 

Having  been  initiated  in  youth,  in  the  doctrines  of  civil 
liberty,  as  they  were  taught  by  such  men  as  Plato,  Demos- 
thenes, Cicero,  and  other  renowned  persons  among  the  an- 
cients ;  and  such  as  Sydney  and  Milton,  Locke  and  Hoadly, 
among  the  moderns,  I  liked  them;  they  seemed  rational. 
And  having  learnt  from  the  holy  scriptures,  that  wise,  brave, 
and  virtuous  men  were  always  friends  to  liberty  ;  that  God 
gave  the  Israelites  a  king,  (or  absolute  monarch)  in  his  anger, 
because  they  had  not  sense  and  virtue  enough  to  like  a  free 
Commonwealth,  and  to  have  himself  for  their  ]|||bg  ;  that  the 
Bon  of  God  came  down  from  heaven  to  make  us  *  free  indeed,' 
3* 


aO  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lcsso7i  7. 

and  that  *  where  the  spirit  of  the  Lord  is,  ther^  is  liberty  ;* 
this  made  me  conclude,  that  freedom  was  a  great  blessing. 

Having  also  from  my  cliildhood  up,  by  the  kind  providence 
of  my  God,  and  the  tender  care  of  a  good  parent,  now  at  rest 
with  him,  been  educated  to  the  love  of  liberty,  though  not 
licentiousness,  which  chaste  and  virtuous  passion  was  still  in- 
creased in  me,  as  I  advanced  towards,  and  into  manhood ;  I 
would  not,  I  cannot  now,  though  past  middle  age,  rehnquish 
the  fair  object  of  my  youthful  affections,  Liberty ;  whose 
charms  instead  of  decaying  with  time  in  my  eyes,  have  daily 
captivated  me  more  and  more.  I  was  accordingly  penetrated 
with  the  most  sensible  grief  when,  about  the  tirst  of  Novem- 
ber last,  that  day  of  darkness,  a  day  hardly  to  be  numbered 
with  the  days  of  the  year,  she  seemed  about  to  depart  from 
America,  and  to  leave  that  ugly  hag.  Slavery.  I  am  now  fill- 
ed with  a  proportionate  degree  of  joy  in  God,  on  occasion  of 
her  speedy  return,  with  new  smiles  on  her  face,  with  augment- 
ed beauty  and  splendour. 

Once  more  then,  hail !  celestial  maid,  the  daughter  of  God, 
and,  excepting  his  son,  the  first  born  of  heaven  !  Welcome  to 
these  shores  again,  welcome  to  every  expanding  heart !  Long 
mayest  though  reside  among  us,  the  delight  of  the  wise,  good 
and  brave  ;  the  protectress  of  innocence  from  wrong  and  op- 
pression ;  the  patroness  of  learning,  art,  eloquence,  virtue, 
rational  loyalty,  religion ! 

And  if  any  miserable  people  on  the  continent— -or  isles  of 
Europe,  after  being  weakened  by  luxury,  debauchery,  venal- 
ity, intestine  quarrels,  or  other  vices,  should,  in  rude  collis- 
ions, or  now  uncertain  revolutions  of  kingdoms,  be  driven  in 
their  extremity  to  seek  a  safe  retreat  from  slavery  in  some  dis- 
tant climate  ;  let  them  find,  O  !  let  them  find  one  in  America, 
under  thy  brooding,  sacred  wings  ;  where  our  oppressed  fa- 
thers once  found  it,  and  we  now  enjoy  it,  by  the  favour  of  him, 
whose  service  is  the  most  glorious  freedom !  Never,  O  !  never, 
may  he  permit  thee  to  forsake  us,  for  our  unworthiness  to 
enjoy  thy  enlivening  presence  !  By  his  high  permission  may- 
est thou  attend  us  throiigh  life  and  death,  to  the  regions  of 
the  blessed,  thy  original  abode,  there  to  enjoy  forever,  '  the 
glorious  hberty  of  the  sons  of  God  !' 


Lesson  8.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  Si 

LESSON  VIII. 

Woods  in  Winter, — Longfellow. 

When  winter  winds  are  piercing  chill, 

And  through  the  white-thorn  blows  the  gale. 

With  solemn  feet  I  tread  the  hill, 
That  over-brows  the  lonely  vale. 

O'er  the  bare  upland,  and  away 

Through  the  long  reach  of  desert  woods. 

The  embracing  sunbeams  chastely  play, 
And  gladden  these  deep  solitudes. 

On  the  gray  maple's  trusted  bark 
Its  tender  shoots  the  hoar-frost  nips ; 

Whilst  in  the  frozen  fountain — hark  ! 
His  piercing  beak  the  bittern  dips. 

Where,  twisted  round  the  barren  oak, 

The  summer  vine  in  beauty  clung, 
And  summer  winds  the  stillness  broke, — 

The  crystal  icicle  is  hung. 

Where,  from  their  frozen  urns,  mute  springs 

Pour  out  the  river's  gradual  tide, 
Shrilly  the  skater's  iron  rings, 

Arid  voices  fill  the  woodland  side. 

Alas !— how  changed  from  the  fair  scene, 
When  birds  sang  out  their  mellow  lay ; 

And  winds  were  soft — and  woods  were  green — 
And  the  song  ceased  not  with  the  day. 

But  still  wild  music  is  abroad, 

Pale,  desert  woods !  within  your  crowd 

And  gathered  winds,  in  hoarse  accord, 
Amid  the  vocal  reeds  pipe  loud. 

Chill  airs,  and  wintry  winds !  my  ear 
Has  grown  familiar  with  your  song  ; 

I  hear  it  in  the  opening  year — 
I  listen,  and  it  cheers  me  long. 


35?  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  9. 

LESSON  IX. 

New  England. — Miss  Francis. 

I  NEVER  view  the  thriving  villages  of  New  England,  which 
speak  so  forcibly  to  the  heart,  of  happiness  and  prosperity, 
without  feeling  a  glow  of  national  pride,  as  I  say,  *This  is 
my  own,  my  native  land.'  A  long  train  of  associations  are 
connected  with  her  picturesque  rivers,  as  they  repose  in  their 
peaceful  loveliness,  the  broad  and  sparkling  mirror  of  the 
heavens, — and  with  the  cultivated  environs  of  her  busy  cities, 
which  seem  every  where  blushing  into  a  perfect  Eden  of 
fruit  and  flowers. 

The  remembrance  of  what  we  have  been,  comes  rushing 
on  the  heart  in  powerful  and  happy  contrast.  In  most  na- 
tions, the  path  of  antiquity  is  shrouded  in  darkness,  rendered 
more  visible  by  the  wild,  fantastic  light  of  fable  ;  but  with  us, 
the  vista  of  time  is  luminous  to  its  remotest  point.  Each 
succeeding  year  has  left  its  fo<3tsteps  distinct  upoirthe  soil, 
and  the  cold  dew  of  our  chilling  dawn  is  still  visible  beneath 
the  mid-day  sun. 

Two  centuries  only  have  elapsed,  since  our  most  beautiful 
villages  reposed  in  the  undisturbed  grandeur  of  nature  ;  when 
the  scenes  now  rendered  classic,  by  literary  associations,  or 
resounding  with  the  din  of  commerce,  echoed  nought  but 
the  sound  of  the  hunter,  or  the  fleet  tread  of  the  wild  deer. 
God  was  here  in  his  holy  temple,  and  the  whole  earth  kept 
silence  before  him  ! 

But  the  voice  of  prayer  was  soon  to  be  heard  in  the  desert. 
The  sun,  which,  for  ages  beyond  the  memory  of  man,  had 
gazed  on  the  strange,  fearful  worship  of  the  Great  Spirit  of 
the  wilderness,  was  soon  to  shed  its  splendour  upon  the  altars 
of  the  living  God.  That  light,  which  had  arisen  amid  the 
darkness  of  Europe,  stretched  its  long,  luminous  track  across 
the  Atlantic,  till  the  summits  of  the  western  world  became 
tinged  with  its  brightness.  During  many  long,  long  ages  of 
gloom  and  corruption,  it  seemed  as  if  the  pure  flame  of  leli- 
gion  was  every  where  quenched  in  blood ; — but  the  watchful 
vestal  had  kept  the  sacred  flame  still  burning  deeply  and 
fervently.  Men,  stern  and  unyielding,  brought  it  hither  in 
their  own  bosom,  and  amid  desolation  and  poverty,  they  kin- 
dled it  on  the  shrine  of  Jehovah. 

In  this  enlightened  and  liberal  age,  it  is  perhaps  too  fash- 
ionable to  look  back  upon  those  early  sufferers  in  the  cause 


Lesson  10,]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  33 

^  of  the  Reformation,  as  a  band  of  dark,  discontented  bigots 
Without  doubt,  there  were  many  broad,  deep  shadows  in 
their  characters,  but  there  was  likewise  bold  and  powerful 
light.  The  peculiarities  of  their  situation  occasioned  most 
of  their  faults,  and  atoned  for  them.  They  were  struck 
off  from  a  learned,  opulent,  and  powerful  nation,  under  cir- 
cumstances which  goaded  and  lacerated  them  almost  to 
ferocity ; — and  no  wonder  that  men,  who  fled  from  oppression 
in  their  own  country,  to  all  the  hardships  of  a  temote  and 
dreary  province,  should  have  exhibited  a  deep  mixture  of 
exclusive,  bitter,  and  morose  passions. 


LESSON  X. 

Boston  garrisoned  by  British  Troops* — Holmes. 

On  the  28th  September,  1768,  two  British  regiments,  es- 
corted by  seven  armed  vessels,  arrived  at  Boston,  from  Halifax. 
Perpetual  disagreement  between  the  commissioners  of  the 
customs  and  the  inhabitants  of  Boston,  had  induced  the  advo- 
cates for  an  American  revenue  to  solicit,  that  a  regular  force 
might  be  stationed  in  that  town ;  and  his  majesty  had  given 
orders  for  it,  in  compliance  with  that  solicitation.  The  fleet 
having  taken  a  station,  which  commanded  the  town,  the  troops, 
under  cover  of  the  cannon  of  the  ships,  landed  without  molest- 
ation, and  to  the  number  of  upwards  of  seven  hundred  men, 
marched,  with  muskets  charged,  bayonets  fixed,  martial  music, 
and  the  usual  military  parade,  into  the  common.  In  the 
evening,  the  selectmen  of  Boston  were  required  to  quarter  the 
two  regiments  in  the  town ;  but  they  absolutely  refused.  A 
temporary  shelter,  however,  in  Fanueil  Hall,  was  permitted  to 
one  regiment,  that  was  without  its  camp  equipage. 

The  next  day,  the  state  house,  by  order  of  the  governour,  was 
opened  for  the  reception  of  the  soldiers  ;  and,  after  the  quar- 
ters were  settled,  two  field  pieces,  with  the  main  guard,  were 
stationed  just  in  its  front.  Every  thing  was  calculated  to  excite 
the  indignation  of  the  inhabitants.  The  lower  floor  of  the  state 
house,  which  had  been  used  by  gentlemen  and  merchants  as 
an  exchange ;  the  representatives'  chamber  ;  the  court  house  ; 
Fanueil  Hall — places  with  which  were  intimately  associated 
ideas  of  justice  and  freedom,  as  well  as  of  convenience  and 
utility— were  now  filled  with  regular  soldiers.     Guards  were 


34  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  11. 

placed  at  the  doors  of  the  state  house,  through  which  the 
council  must  pass,  in  going  to  their  own  chamber.  The  com- 
mon was  covered  with  tents.  Soldiers  were  constantly  march- 
ing and  countermarching  to  relieve  the  guards.  The  sentinels 
challenged  the  inhabitants,  as  they  passed.  The  Lord's  day 
was  profaned,  and  the  devotion  of  the  sanctuary  disturbed, 
by  the  sound  of  drums  and  other  military  music.  There  was 
every  appearance  of  a  garrisoned  town. 

The  colonists  felt  disgusted  and  injured,  but  not  overawed, 
by  the  presence  of  the  obtruded  soldiery.  After  the  troops 
had  obtained  quarters,  the  council  were  required  to  provide 
barracks  for  them,  agreeably  to  act  of  parliament ;  but  they 
resolutely  declined  any  measure,  which  might  be  constructed 
into  a  submission  to  that  act. 


LESSON  XL 
Marguerite  and  Zjowis.— Miss  Sedgwick. 

On  a  point  of  land,  at  the  junction  of  theOswegatchie  with 
the  St.  Lawrence,  is  a  broken  stone  wall,  the  remains  of  a  for- 
tification. Tradition  says,  that  a  commandant  of  this  fort 
(which  was  built  by  the  French  to  protect  their  traders  against 
the  savages,)  married  a  young  Iroquois,  who  was,  before  or 
after  the  marriage,  converted  to  the  Catholic  faith.  She  was 
the  daughter  of  a  chieftain  of  her  tribe,  and  great  efforts  were 
made,  by  her  people,  to  induce  her  to  return  to  them.  Her  broth- 
er lurked  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  procured  interviews  with 
her,  and  attempted  to  win  her  back  by  all  the  motives  of  na- 
tional pride  and  family  affection  ;  but  all  in  vain.  The  young 
Garanga,  or,  to  call  her  by  her  baptismal  name.  Marguerite, 
was  bound  by  a  threefold  cord — her  love  to  her  husband,  to 
her  son,  and  to  her  religion.  Mecumeh,  finding  persuasion 
ineffectual,  had  recourse  to  stratagem.  The  commandant  was 
in  the  habit  of  going  down  the  river  on  fishing  excursions, 
and  when  he  returned,  he  would  fire  his  signal  gun,  and 
Marguerite  and  her  boy  would  hasten  to  the  shore  to  greet 
him. 

On  one  occasion,   he  had  been  gone  longer  than  usual. 
Marguerite  was  filled  with  apprehensions  natural  enough,  at  a  • 
time,  when  imminent  dangers  and  hairbreadth  escapes  were  of 
every  day  occurence.     She  had  sat  in  the  tower  and  watched 


Lesson  11.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  35 

for  the  returning  canoe  till  the  last  beam  of  day  had  faded 
from  the  waters  ; — the  deepening  shadows  of  twilight  played 
tricks  with  her  imagination.  Once  she  was  startled  by  the 
water-fowl,  which,  as  it  skimmed  along  the  surface  of  the  water, 
imaged  to  her  fancy  the  light  canoe  impelled  by  her  hus- 
band's vigorous  arm — again  she  heard  the  leap  of  the  heavy 
muskalongi,  and  the  splashing  waters  sounded  to  her  fancy 
like  the  first  dash  of  the  oar.  That  passed  away,  and  disap- 
pointment and  tears  followed.  Her  boy  was  beside  her  ;  the 
young  Louis,  who,  though  scarcely  twelve  years  old,  already 
had  his  imagination  filled  with  daring  deeds. 

Born  and  bred  in  a  fort,  he  was  an  adept  in  the  use  of  the 
bow  and  the  musket ;  courage  seemed  to  be  his  instinct,  and 
danger  his  element,  and  battles  and  wounds  were  '  household 
words '  with  him.  He  laughed  at  his  mother's  fears ;  but,  in 
spite  of  his  boyish  ridicule,  they  strengthened,  till  apprehension 
seemed  reality.  Suddenly  the  sound  of  the  signal  gun  broke 
on  the  stillness  of  the  night.  Both  mother  and  son  sprang  on 
their  feet  with  a  cry  of  joy,  and  were  pressing,  hand  in  hand, 
towards  the  outer  gate,  when  a  sentinel  stopped  them  to  re- 
mind Marguerite,  it  was  her  husband's  order,  that  no  one  should 
venture  without  the  walls  after  sunset.  She,  however,  insist- 
ed on  passing,  and  telling  the  soldier  that  she  would  answer 
to  the  commandant  for  his  breach  of  orders — she  passed  the 
outer  barrier.  Young  Louis  held  up  his  bow  and  arrow  be- 
fore the  sentinel,  saying  gaily,  'I  am  my  mother's  body-guard, 
you  know.'  Tradition  has  preserved  these  trifling  circum- 
stances, as  the  events,  that  followed,  rendered  them  mem- 
orable. 

*  The  distance,'  continued  the  stranger,  '  from  the  fort  to 
the  place  where  the  commandant  moored  his  canoe  was  trifling, 
and  quickly  passed.  Marguerite  and  Louis  flew  along  the 
narrow  foot  path,  reached  the  shore,  and  were  in  the  arms 

of —  Mecumeh  and  his  fierce  companions.     Entreaties 

and  resistance  were  alike  vain.  Resistance  was  made,  with 
a  manly  spirit,  by  young  Louis,  who  drew  a  knife  from  the 
girdle  of  one  of  the  Indians,  and  attempted  to  plunge  it  in  the 
bosom  of  Mecumeh,  who  was  roughly  binding  his  wampum 
belt  over  Marguerite's  mouth,  to  deaden  the  sound  of  her 
screams.  The  uncle  wrested  the  knife  from  him,  and  smiled 
proudly  on  him,  as  if  he  recognised  in  the  brave  boy,  a  scion 
from  his  own  stock. 

The  Indians  had  two  canoes  ;  Marguerite  was  conveyed 
to  one,  Louis  to  the  other — and  both  canoes  were  rowed  into 


36  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  11. 

the  Oswegatchie,  and  up  the  stream,  as  fast  as  it  was  possible 
to  impel  them  against  the  current  of  the  river. 

Not  a  word  nor  cry  escaped  the  boy  :  he  seemed  intent  on 
some  purpose,  and  when  the  canoe  approached  near  the  shore, 
he  took  off  a  military  cap  he  wore,  and  threw  it  so  skilfully 
that  it  lodged,  where  he  meant  it  should,  on  the  branch  of  a 
tree  which  projected  over  the  water.  There  was  a  long  white 
feather  in  the  cap.  The  Indians  had  observed  the  boy's 
movement-^they  held  up  their  oars  for  a  moment,  and  seem- 
ed to  consult  whether  they  should  return  and  remove  the 
cap  ;  but  after  a  moment,  they  again  dashed  their  oars  in  the 
water  and  proceeded  forward.  They  continued  rowing  for  a 
few  miles,  and  then  landed  ;  hid  their  canoes  behind  some 
trees  on  the  river's  bank,  and  plunged  into  the  woods  with 
their  prisoners.  It  seems  to  have  been  their  intention  to  have 
returned  to  their  canoes  in  the  morning,  and  they  had  not 
proceeded  far  from  the  shore,  when  they  kindled  a  fire  and 
prepared  some  food,  and  offered  a  share  of  it  to  Marguerite 
and  Louis. 

Poor  Marguerite,  as  may  be  supposed,  had  no  mind  to  eat ; 
but  Louis,  saith  tradition,  ate  as  heartily  as  if  he  had  been  safe 
within  the  walls  of  the  fort.  After  the  supper,  the  Indians 
stretched  themselves  before  the  fire,  but  not  till  they  had 
taken  the  precaution  to  bind  Marguerite  to  a  tree,  and  to 
compel  Louis  to  lie  down  in  the  arms  of  his  uncle  Mecu- 
meh.  Neither  of  the  prisoners,  closed  their  eyes.  Louis 
kept  his  fixed  on  his  mother.  She  sat  upright  beside  an 
oak  tree  ;  the  cord  was  fastened  around  her  waist,  and 
bound  around  the  tree,  which  had  been  blasted  by  lightning ; 
the  moon  poured  its  beams  through  the  naked  branches,  upon 
her  face,  convulsed  with  the  agony  of  despair  and  fear.  With 
one  hand  she  held  a  crucifix  to  her  lips,  the  other  was  on  her 
rosary.  The  sight  of  his  mother  in  such  a  situation,  stirred 
up  daring  thoughts  in  the  bosom  of  the  heroic  boy — but  he 
lay  powerless  in  his  uncle's  naked  brawny  arms.  He  tried  to 
disengage  himself,  but  at  the  slightest  movement,  Mecumeh, 
though  still  sleeping,  seemed  conscious,  and  strained  him 
closer  to  him.  At  last  the  strong  sleep,  that  in  the  depth  oi 
the  night  steeps  the  senses  in  utter  forgetfulness,  overpower- 
ed him — his  arms  relaxed  their  hold,  and  dropped  beside  hira 
and  left  Louis  free. 

He  rose  cautiously,  looked  for  one  instant  on  the  Indians, 
and  assured  himself  they  all  slept  profoundly.  He  then  pos- 
sessed himself  of  Mecumeh's  knife,  which  lay  at  his  feet,  and 


Lesson  11.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  87 

severed  the  cord  that  bound  his  mother  to  the  tree.  Neither 
of  them  spoke  a  word — but  with  the  lea^t  possible  sound,  they 
resumed  the  way,  by  which  they  had  come  from  the  shore  ; 
Louis  in  the  confidence,  and  Marguerite  with  the  faint  hope 
of  reaching  it  before  they  were  overtaken. 

It  may  be  imagined  how  often  the  poor  mother,  timid  as  a 
fawn,  was  startled  by  the  evening  breeze  stirring  the  leaves, 
but  the  boy  bounded  forward  as  if  there  was  neither  fear  nor 
danger  in  the  world. 

They  had  nearly  attained  the  margin  of  the  river,  where 
Louis  meant  to  launch  one  of  the  canoes  and  drop  down  the 
current,  when  the  Indian  yell  resounding  through  the  woods, 
struck  on  their  ears.  They  were  missed,  pursued,  and  escape 
was  impossible.  Marguerite  panic-struck,  sunk  to  the  ground. 
Nothing  could  check  the  career  of  Louis.  '  On — on,  mother,' 
he  cried,  '  to  the  shore — to  the  shore.'  She  rose  and  instinct- 
ively followed  her  boy.  The  sound  of  pursuit  came  nearer 
and  nearer.  They  reached  the  shore,  and  there  beheld  three 
canoes  coming  swiftly  up  the  river.  Animated  with  hope, 
Louis  screamed  the  watch-word  of  the  garrison,  and  was  an- 
swered by  his  father's  voice. 

The  possibility  of  escape,  and  the  certain  approach  of  her 
husband,  infused  new  life  into  Marguerite.  '  Your  father 
cannot  see  us,'  she  said  '  as  we  stand  here  in  the  shade  of  the 
trees ;  hide  yourself  in  that  thicket,  I  will  plunge  into  the 
water.'  Louis  crouched  under  the  bushes,  and  was  com- 
pletely hidden  by  an  overhanging  grape-vine,  while  his  mother 
advanced  a  few  steps  into  the  water  and  stood  erect,  where 
she  could  be  distinctly  seen.  A  shout  from  the  canoes  ap- 
prized her  that  she  was  recognised,  and  at  the  same  moment, 
the  Indians,  who  had  now  reached  the  shore,  rent  the  air  with 
their  cries  of  rage  and  defiance. 

They  stood  for  a  moment,  as  if  deliberating  what  next  ^to 
do  ;  Mecumeh  maintained  an  undaunted  and  resolved  air-^. 
but  with  his  followers  the  aspect  of  armed  men,  and  a  force 
thrice  their  number,  had  its  usual  effect.  They  fled.  He 
looked  after  them,  cried,  *  shame  !'  and  then  with  a  desperate 
yell,  leaped  into  the  water  and  stood  beside  Marguerite.  The 
canoes  were  now  within  a  few  yards — He  put  his  knife  to  her 
bosom — '  The  daughter  of  Tecumseh,'  he  said,  '  should  have 
died  by  the  judgment  of  our  warriors,  but  now  by  her  broth- 
er's hand  must  she  perish  :'  and  he  drew  back  his  arm  to  give 
vigour  to  the  fatal  stroke,  when  an  arrow  pierced  his  own 
breast,  and  he  fell  insensible  at  his  sister's  side.  A  moment 
4 


38  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  12. 

after  Marguerite  was  in  the  arms  of  her  husband,  and  Louis, 
with  his  bow  unstrung,  bounded  from  the  shore,  and  was  re- 
ceived in  his  father's  canoe  ;  and  the  wild  shores  rung  with 
the  acclamations  of  the  soldiers,  while  his  father's  tears  of 
pride  and  joy  were  poured  like  rain  upon  his  cheek. 


LESSON  XIL 

An  Indian  at  the  burying  place  of  his  Fathers, — Bryant- 

It  is  the  spot  I  came  to  seek, — 

My  fathers'  ancient  burial-place. 
Ere  from  these  vales,  ashamed  and  weak 

Withdrew  our  wasted  race- 
It  is  the  spot, — I  know  it  well — 
Of  which  our  old  traditions  tell. 

For  here  the  upland  bank  sends  out 

A  ridge  toward  the  river  side; 
I  know  the  shaggy  hills  about, 

The  meadow  smooth  and  wide ; 
The  plains,  that,  toward  the  southern  sky, 
Fenced  east  and  west,  by  mountains  lie. 

A  white  man,  gazing  on  the  scene. 
Would  say  a  lovely  spot  was  here. 

And  praise  the  lawns  so  fresh  and  green, 
Between  the  hills  so  sheer. 

I  like  it  not — I  would  the  plain 

Lay  in  its  tall  old  groves  again. 

The  sheep  are  on  the  slopes  around, 

The  cattle  in  the  meadows  feed. 
And  labourers  turn  the  crumbling  ground 

Or  dtop  the  yellow  seed. 
And  prancing  steeds,  in  trappings  gay, 
Whirl  the  bright  chariot  o'er  the  way. 

Methinks  it  were  a  nobler  sight 

To  see  these  vales  in  woods  arrayed. 

Their  summits  in  the  golden  light, 
Their  trunks  in  grateful  shade, 


Lessm  12.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

And  herds  of  deer,  that  bounding  go 
O'er  rills  and  prostrate  trees  below. 

And  then  to  mark  the  lord  of  all, 

The  forest  hero,  trained  to  wars, 
Quivered  and  plumed,  and  lithe  and  tall, 

And  seamed  with  glorious  scars. 
Walk  forth,  amid  his  reign,  to  dare 
The  wolf,  and  grapple  with  the  bear. 

This  bank,  in  which  the  dead  were  laid^ 
Was  sacred  when  its  soil  was  ours ; 

Hither  the  artless  Indian  maid 

Brought  wreaths  of  beads  and  flowers, 

And  the  gray  chief  and  gifted  seer 

Worshipped  the  God  of  thunders  here. 

But  now  the  wheat  is  green  and  high 
On  clods  that  hid  the  warrior's  breast, 

And  scattered  in  the  furrows  lie 
The  weapons  of  his  rest. 

And  there,  in  the  loose  sand,  is  thrown 

Of  his  large  arm  the  mouldering  bone. 

Ah,  little  thought  the  strong  and  brave, 
Who  bore  their  lifeless  chieftain  forth, 

Or  the  young  wife,  that  weeping  gave 
Her  first-born  to  the  earth. 

That  the  pale  race,  who  waste  us  now, 

Among  their  bones  should  guide  the  plough. 

They  waste  us — aye — like  April  snow 
In  the  warm  noon,  we  shrink  away 

And  fast  they  follow,  as  we  go 
Towards  the  setting  day, — 

Till  they  shall  fill  the  land,  and  we 

Are  driven  into  the  western  sea. 

But  I  behold  a  fearful  sign, 

To  which  the  white  men's  eyes  are  blind ; 
Their  race  may  vanish  hence,  like  mine, 

And  leave  no  trace  behind. 
Save  ruins  o'er  the  region  spread, 
And  the  white  stones  above  the  dead. 


4»  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  13. 

Before  these  fields  were  shorn  and  tilled, 
Full  to  the  brim  our  rivers  flowed ; 

The  melody  of  waters  filled 

The  fresh  and  boundless  wood ; 

And  torrents  dashed,  and  riTulets  played, 

And  fountains  s}X)uted  in  the  shade. 

Those  grateful  sounds  are  heard  no  more. 
The  springs  are  silent  in  the  sun, 

The  rivers,  by  the  blackening  shore, 
With  lessening  current  run  ; 

The  realm  our  tribes  are  crushed  to  get, 

May  be  a  barren  desert  yet. 


LESSON   XIIL 
The  Boston  Massacre. — Holmes. 

The  inhabitants  of  Boston  continued  to  feel  it  an  indigni- 
ty, to  have  soldiers  quartered  among  them;  and  reciprocal 
insults  and  injuries  prepared  the  way  for  a  tragical  event, 
that  made  a  deep  and  lasting  impression  on  the  colonists. 
On  the  second*  of  March,  an  affray  took  place  near  Gray's 
ropewalk,  between  a  private  soldier  of  the  twenty-ninth  regi- 
ment, and  an  inhabitant  of  the  town  ;  and  the  one  was 
supported  by  his  fellow  soldiers  ;  the  other,  by  his  fellow 
citizens.  On  the  fifth,  the  soldiers,  while  under  arms,  being- 
pressed  upon,  insulted  by  the  populace,  and  dared  to  fire  ; 
one  of  them,  who  had  received  a  blow,  fired  at  the  aggressor, 
and  a  single  discharge  .fi*om  six  others  succeeded.  Three  of 
the  inhabitants  were  killed,  and  five  dangerously  wounded. 
The  town  was  instantly  thrown  into  the  greatest  commotion. 
The  drums  beat  to  arms,  and  thousands  of  the  inhabitants 
assembled  in  the  adjacent  street. 

The  next  morning,  lieutenant  governour  Hutchinson  sum- 
moned a  council ;  and,  while  the  subject  was  in  discussion, 
a  message  was  received  from  the  town,  which  had  convened 
in  full  assembly,  declaring  it  to  be  -riieir  unanimous  opinion, 
*'that  nothing  can  rationally  be  expected  to  restore  the  peace 
of  the  town,  and  prevent  blood  and  carnage,  but  the  imme- 
diate removal  of  the  troops."  On  an  agreement  to  this  mea- 
sure, the  commotion  subsided.     One  of  the  wounded  men 


Lesson  14.]     AxMERICAN  LITERATURE.  41 

died ;  and  the  four  killed  were  buried  in  one  vault,  with  the 
highest  marks  of  respect.  Captain  Preston,  who  commanded 
the  party  of  soldiers,  was  committed  with  them  to  jail  ;  and 
all  were  afterwards  tried.  The  captain  and  six  of  the  men 
were  acquitted.  Two  were  brought  in  guilty  of  manslaugh- 
ter. The  result  of  the  trial  reflected  great  honour  on  John 
Adams  and  Josiah  Quincy,  the  counsel  for  the  prisoners,  and 
on  the  integrity  of  the  jury. 


LESSON  XIV. 

JPainting  and  Sculpture  in  Ancient  Greece, — U.  S.  Literary 
Gazette. 

What  perfection  the  art  of  painting  had  attained  in  Greece, 
we  can  judge  only  by  the  testimony  of  classick  authors,  and  by 
the  admiration,  which  celebrated  painters  enjoyed  among  their 
countrymen.  Zeuxis  attended  the  Olympian  games,  wearing 
a  garment  with  his  name  embroidered  in  golden  letters  upon 
the  border ;  and  his  rival,  Parrhasius,  appeared  there  clad  in 
purple  robes,  and  bearing  a  golden  garland.  In  Zeuxis,  Po- 
lygnotus,  and  Timantes,  says  Tully,  we  praise  the  forms  and 
lineaments  ;  but  all  things  are  perfect  in  Action,  Nicoma- 
chus,  Protogenes,  and  Apelles. 

It  is  related  of  Protogenes,  that  when  Demetrius  Poliorcetes 
might  have  put  a  speedy  end  to  the  siege  of  Rhodes,  by  as- 
saulting it  in  the  quarter,  which  Protogenes  inhabited,  he  re- 
fused to  incur  the  hazard  of  injuring  the  pictures  of  this 
artist ;  and  that  after  the  city  surrendered,  he  said  he  would 
sooner  destroy  the  images  of  his  father,  than  these  admirable 
productions.  But  of  Apelles,  the  master  of  Grecian  painting, 
the  fame  and  the  reputed  excellence  were  alike  unequal.  He 
began  the  picture  of  the  Coan  Venus,  and  after  entirely  finish- 
ing the  head  and  the  upper  part  of  the  bust,  left  the  rest  of  the 
body  imperfect ;  but  no  other  painter  durst  undertake  the 
task  of  completing  it. 

Alexander  suffered  himself  to  be  modelled  by  Lysippus 
and  painted  by  Apelles  alone  ;  not  merely  because  they  only 
were  worthy  to  do  it,  but  because  their  divine  art  would  re- 
flect equally  lasting  glory  on  him  and  them  ;  and  when  he  was 

drawn  by  Apelles,  the  courtiers  said  there  were  two  Alexan- 

4# 


ife  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  14. 

ders,  one  invincible,  born  of  Olympias,  and  the  other  inimita- 
ble, created  by  Apelles. 

Shall  we  deem  these  praises  of  the  ancient  painters  extrav- 
agant ?  Could  they,  who  transmitted  to  posterity  such  splendid 
monuments  of  perfect  taste  in  other  things,  have  made  a  mis- 
taken estimate  of  the  beauty  of  a  picture  ?  We  are  not  fond 
of  indiscriminate  eulogy  of  the  ancients.  The  time  is  past 
by,  when  classick  learning  was  the  only  test  of  scholarship, 
and  adulation  of  the  ancients  conclusive  evidence  of  correct 
taste.  But  the  best  critics  are  satisfied  of  the  perfection  of 
Greek  painters,  at  least  in  Alexander's  time,  in  all  the  essen- 
tial qualities  of  the  art.  Modern  painters  may  have  more  of 
scientific  excellence  in  the  management  of  perspective,  and 
in  the  composition  of  figures,  but  in  design,  expression,  in- 
vention, colouring,  we  do  not  believe  they  surpass  the  an- 
cients. 

Ha])])ily,  the  genius  of  ancient  sculptors  and  architects  was 
exercised  on  more  durable  objects  than  canvass,  and  works  of 
theirs  yet  ^rvive,  to  attest  the  perfection  of  the  art.  Were 
it  not  so,  sceptical  inquirers  might  as  reasonably  deny  the 
wonderful  excellence  of  Phidias,  as  of  Apelles.  But  the 
broken  relic  of  a  farade,  the  magnificent  ruin  of  a  temple  or 
an  arch,  or  a  single  inimitably  perfect  statue,  has  outlived  the 
ravages  of  time  aifd  barbarism,  to  be  the  models  for  us  of  all 
that  is  most  beautiful  in  their  kind,  and  to  give  us  an  idea  of 
the  miracles  of  taste  and  skill,  which  Greek  art  could  pro- 
duce. 

As  it  is,  we  meet  with  no  difficulty  in  crediting  the  well 
known  story,  that  Nicom'edes,  King  of  Bithynia,  offered  to 
discharge  the  large  publick  debt  of  Cnidos,  as  the  price  of 
Praxiteles'  Venus,  which  belonged  to  that  Island  ;  or  that 
the  offer  was  rejected  by  the  Cnidians.  What  is  there  strange 
in  the  fact  related  by  Livy,  that  when  Paulus  ^Emilias  be- 
held the  magnificent  collossal  statue  of  the  Olympian  Jupi- 
ter made  by  Phidias,  he  was  struck  with  awe,  as  if  in  the  ac- 
tual presence  of  the  Thunderer  ?  Well  might  Lucian  hazard 
the  saying  that  Phidias  was  adored  in  his  sublime  productions ; 
for  surely  if  any  thing  could  furnish  an  apology  for  the  trans- 
fer of  worship  from  the  being  represented  to  the  representa- 
tion, it  would  be  the  glorious  creations  of  genius,  which  adorn- 
ed the  splendid  and  beautiful  temples  of  the  Greeks. 


Lesson  15.]       AMERIGAxN  LITERATURE.  43 

LESSON  XV. 

Usefulness  of  the  Fine  Arts, — U.  S.  Literary  Gazette. 

Giving  the  narrowest  constriiction  to  utility,  of  which  the 
word  is  susceptible,  we  apprehend  it  is  demonstrable  that  the 
study  of  the  ornamental  arts  is  eminently  useful  to  a  nation. 
It  might  be  shown  to  contribute  to  the  national  wealth,  as 
well  as  to  national  honour,  the  encouragement  of  genius,  and 
the  laudable  gratification  of  opulent  individuals, — by  the  plain- 
est considerations.  It  provides  a  new  field  for  the  exercise 
of  labour,  and  thereby  augments  the  productive  industry  of  the 
nation.  It  cannot  diminish  the  productive  labour  of  any  oth- 
er branch  of  industry.  In  many  countries,  and  no  where 
more  evidently  than  here,  the  number  of  hands  employed  in 
cultivation  is  much  greater  than  is  needed,  to  produce  the  re- 
quisite amount  of  agricultural  products,  demanded  for  domes- 
tick  and  foreign  consumption.  There  being  a  surplus  of 
labour  devoted  to  agriculture,  the  creation  of  a  new  branch  of 
productive  industry  would  naturally  draw  labour  away  from 
that  department,  in  which  there  is  now  an  excess  of  it ;  and 
the  whole  value  of  the  labour  thus  diverted  into  a  new  chan- 
nel, would  be  so  much  clear  gain  to  the  community. 

The  wealth  expended  on  publick  or  private  buildings,  on 
paintings,  or  on  sculpture,  is  not  lost  nor  consumed.  It  still 
remains  in  the  country,  being  merely  transferred  from  the 
rich  to  the  ingenious,  from  the  hands  of  those,  who  have  a 
surplus  over  their  wants  and  over  what  they  can  profitably 
employ,  to  the  hands  of  the  industrious  classes.  A  portion  of 
it  is  fixed  in  a  new  object,  in  a  beautiful  statue  or  church,  in  a 
commodious  house,  or  in  an  elegant  picture  ;  but  nevertheless 
it  still  exists. 

The  employment  of  labour  in  the  fine  arts,  increases  the  de- 
mand, and  with  the  demand,  the  value  of  the  products  of  other 
branches  of  industry.  It  creates  a  new  class  of  men  to  be  fed, 
and  clothed,  and  supported  in  comfort ;  it  calls  marble  and 
granite  from  the  quarry  ;  it  causes  the  mine  to  be  wrought  for 
its  metal ;  it  demands  a  supply  of  colours,  wood,  and  all  the 
other  various  materials  used  in  the  ornamental  arts. — Thus  it 
gives,  at  once,  occupation  to  additional  labourers  ;  it  converts 
vegetable  and  mineral  substances,  of  no  value  intrinsically,  or 
at  least  of  no  value  whilst  in  the  earth  or  the  forest,  into  prof- 
itable articles  of  trade  ;  and  it  adds,  by  the  whole  operation, 
to  the  value  of  lands  and  to  the  aggregate  of  national  wealth. 


44  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  15. 

Besides,  surplus  wealth  will  be  expended  by  its  holders,  in  the 
purchase  of  objects  of  taste  and  luxury,  such  as  the  fine  arts 
produce.  If  those  objects  cannot  be  found  at  home,  the 
money  will  depart  into  foreign  lands,  to  discourage  domestick 
industry,  and  encourage  that  of  some  rival  nation. 

And  there  is  another  point  of  view,  wherein  it  is  important 
to  regard  the  subject.  We  have  spoken  thus  far  only  of  the 
supply  of  objects  of  the  fine  arts,  and  of  a  supply  of  them  only 
for  domestick  consumption.  The  subject  has  vastly  more 
extensive  relations.  It  is  estimated  that,  in  England,  of  the 
students  devoted  to  professional  improvement  in  the  fine  arts, 
but  one  out  of  forty  or  fifty  rises  to  the  rank  of  a  distinguished 
painter  or  sculptor.  Not  every  aspirant  after  fame  becomes 
a  West,  a  Chantrey,  an  Allston,  or  a  Newton.  The  hundreds 
of  others,  oftentimes  men  of  genius  too,  who  spend  their  live>< 
in  the  practice  of  the  fine  arts,  find  more  profitable  employ- 
ment for  their  talents,  in  the  manufactories  of  clay,  glass,  met- 
als, cottons,  and  the  like,  than  they  would  in  the  higher 
walks  of  the  profession. 

These  are  the  artists,  who  communicate  that  beauty  of  de- 
sign and  exquisite  finish  to  the  meanest  as  well  as  richest  ar- 
ticles of  British  manufacture,  by  means  of  which,  among  other 
things,  they  have  hitherto  obtained  a  preference  in  all  the 
markets  of  the  world.  Thinking  men  amongst  us  are  begin- 
ning to  perceive,  that  the  most  advantageous  investments  of 
ca})ital,  so  far  as  the  interest  of  the  nation  is  concerned,  is  in 
manufactures.  It  is  for  them  to  consider  whether  we  can 
compete  with  Great  Britain  in  foreign  markets,  successfully, 
and  upon  equal  footing,  before  we  have  secured,  not  only  a 
sufficient  capital  and  the  excellent  machinery  which  we  now 
possess,  but  also  the  same  taste  in  giving  finish  and  grace  to 
our  manufactured  productions.  And  we  hazard  nothing  in 
predicting  the  time  to  be  close  at  hand,  when,  with  the  bless- 
ing of  heaven,  the  same  country,  which  now  produces  artists 
of  unequalled  skill  in  the  strictly  useful  and  inventive  arts, 
shall  be  not  less  fertile  of  ornamental  and  imitative  genius. 


Lesso7i  16.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE. 

LESSON  XVI. 

Dion's  Dream, — Jones. 

He  lay  upon  his  couch  by  night, 
Locked  fast  in  sleep  ;  for  he  had  been 
Engaged  the  livelong  day  in  fight 
With  warriour-bands  of  foreign  men : 
When,  on  the  moon's  declining  beam, 
There  came  the  Spirit  of  a  dream. 

It  breathed  upon  his  face  the  spell, 
Which  shows  the  future  and  the  past, 
And  bade  him  note  fair  Hellas  well, 
And  see  her  age  of  glory  past. 
'  And  cast  thine  eyes,  chief,  west  and  east, 
And  tell  me,  dreamer,  what  thou  seest. 

And  Dion  saw,  and  lo  \  the  fetnd, 
The  land  of  Greece,  was  free  no  more; 
But  o'er  it  ruled  a  turbaned  band, 
Whose  scimitars  were  red  with  gore. 
And  there  a  Spartan  boy,  who  waits 
A  bondman  at  the  conqueror's  gates. 

He  saw  her  sons  the  proselytes 

Of  a  pure  creed — a  faith  divine  ; 

None  pay  the  *  Unknown  God'  high  rites — 

His  temple  holds  a  holier  shrine. 

'Tis  changed  ;  alas,  at  evening  there, 

A  Muezzim  chants  the  Moslem  prayer. 

He  saw  a  wretched  peasant  stand  ; 
Chained  to  his  implements  of  toil ; 
And  there  are  fetters  on  his  hand, 
And  there  are  tears,  but  ne'er  a  smile. 
And  oft  is  upward  cast  his  eye 
In  prayer  to  God,  that  he  may  die. 

He  saw  a  girl  with  golden  locks 
And  polished  brow  and  azure  eye ; 
Why  roves  she  o'er  the  lonely  rocks  ? 
Why  all  the  day  long  weep  and  sigh  T 


4^.  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  16. 

Alas,  her  loveliness  has  caught 
A  haram's  lord,  and  she  is  bought. 

And  o'er  the  Morea,  far  and  wide, 
The  ruthless  sons  of  Islam  stand 
With  every  weapon,  art  has  tried 
To  work  the  downfall  of  a  land. 
And  Dion  thus  in  sorrow  slept, 
Then  left  his  couch,  and  sat,  and  wept. 

Again  he  sunk  to  sleep: — again 

He  dreamed.     Upon  that  mount  of  Thrace, 

Which  rises,  as  'tis  said  of  men. 

Ten  thousand  feet  above  its  base, 

He  stood,  and  from  the  height  surveyed 

The  changes  passing  centuries  made. 

Is  that  lost  Greece  he  sees  below  1 
Where  is  the  glittering  minaret  ? 
And  where  is  he,  the  turbaned  foe, 
The  Othman  surely  rules  her  yet  ?       -^ 
No,  rest  thee,  chief,  the  Moslem  thrones 
Cumber  no  land  that  Europe  owns. 

He  sees  upon  a  sunny  slope. 

All  festooned  over  with  the  vine, 

A  merry,  laughing,  peasant  group, 

Around  a  vase  of  Chian  wine. 

And  much  they  talk  of  days  gone  past, 

Ere  Despotism  breathed  his  last. 

He  sees  a  labouring  man  at  work  ; 
His  children,  babes  with  yellow  hair. 
Play  by,  and,  fearless  of  the  Turk, 
Pursue  a  young  bird  fluttering  there, 
And  he,  that  sire,  with  soft  embrace 
Of  those  dear  babes,  joins  in  the  chace. 

And,  emblem  of  the  peace,  that  reigns 
Throughout  the  clime,  he  sees  a  maid 
Of  angel  form  forsake  the  plains. 
And  wander  to  the  mountain's  shade, 
All  lonely,  with  her  father's  flocks ; — 
For  there's  no  Turk  among  these  rocks. 


Lesson  17.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  4T 

What  cloud  is  that,  which,  girt  with  wings, 
Comes  sweeping  where  proud  Corinth  smiles  1 
No  shadowy  cloud  ;  that  vessel  brings 
The  dove  from  far  Atlantic  ieles  ; 
Lo !  o'er  her,  with  a  dark  blue  blent, 
There  waves  a  starry  firmament. 

The  warriour  wakes;  there  is  no  cloud 
Upon  his  heart ;  the  morning  sun 
Shines  through  his  tent,  and  fierce  and  loud 
Come  shouts,  as  when  the  battle's  won. 
And  little  taught  by  yester  night, 
The  Satrap  arms  again  for  fight.  ^ 


LESSON  XVII. 

The  Rivulet. — Bryant. 

This  little  rill  that,  from  the  springs 
Of  yonder  grove,  its  current  brings. 
Plays  on  the  slope  awhile,  and  then 
Goes  prattling  into  groves  again, 
Oft  to  its  warbling  waters  drew 
My  little  feet  when  life  was  new. 
When  woods  in  early  green  were  drest, 
And  from  the  chambers  of  the  west 
The  warmer  breezes,  travelling  out. 
Breathed  the  new  scent  of  flowers  about, 
My  truant  steps  from  home  would  stray, 
Upon  its  grassy  side  to  play  ; 
To  crop  the  violet  on  its  brim. 
And  listen  to  the  throstle's  hymn. 
With  blooming  cheek  and  open  brow, 
As  young  and  gay,  sweet  rill,  as  thou. 

And  when  the  days  of  boyhood  came. 
And  I  had  grown  in  love  with  fame,^ 
Duly  I  sought  thy  banks,  and  tried 
My  first  rude  numbers  by  thy  side. 
Words  cannot  tell  how  orlad  and  gay 
The  scenes  of  life  before  me  lay. 


48  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  17. 

High  visions  then,  and  lofty  schemes 
Glorious  and  bright  as  fairy  dreams, 
And  daring  hopes,  that  now  to  speak 
Would  bring  the  blood  into  my  cheek, 
Passed  o'er  me ;  and  I  wrote  on  high 
A  name  I  deemed  should  never  die. 

Years  change  thee  not.     Upon  yon  hill 
The  tall  old  maples,  verdant  still, 
Yet  tell,  in  proud  and  grand  decay. 
How  swift  the  years  have  passed  away, 
Since  first,  a  child,  and  half  afraid, 
I  wandered  in  the  forest  shade. 
But  thou,  gay,  merry  rivulet, 
Dost  dimple,  play,  and  prattle  yet ; 
And  sporting  with  the  sands  that  pave 
The  windings  of  thy  silver  wave, 
And  dancing  to  thy  own  wild  chime, 
Thou  laughest  at  the  lapse  of  time. 

The  same  sweet  sounds  are  in  my  ear 
My  early  childhood  loved  to  hear ; 
As  pure  thy  limpid  waters  run, 
As  bright  they  sparkle  to  the  sun ; 
As  fresh  the  herbs  that  crowd  to  drink 
The  moisture  of  thy  oozy  brink  ; 
The  violet  there,  in  soft  May  dew, 
Comes  up,  as  modest  and  as  blue ; 
As  green  amid  thy  current's  stress, 
Floats  the  scarce-rooted  water  cress ; 
And  the  brown  ground  bird,  in  thy  glen, 
Still  chirps  as  merrily  as  then. 

Thou  changest  not — but  I  am  changed, 
Since  first  thy  pleasant  banks  I  ranged ; 
And  the  grave  stranger,  come  to  see 
The  play-place  of  his  infancy. 
Has  scarce  a  single  trace  of  him, 
AVho  sported  once  upon  thy  brim. 
The  visions  of  my  youth  are  past — 
Too  bright,  too  beautiful  to  last. 

I've  tried  the  world — it  wears  no  more 
The  colouring  of  romance  it  wore. 


Lesson  18.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  419 

Yet  well  has  nature  kept  the  truth 
She  promised  to  my  earliest  youth ; 
The  radiant  beauty,  shed  abroad 
On  all  the  glorious  works  of  God, 
Shows  freshly,  to  my  sobered  eye, 
Each  charm  it  wore  in  days  gone  by. 

A  few  brief  years  shall  pass  away, 
And  I,  all  trembling,  weak,  and  gray, 
Bowed  to  the  earth,  which  waits  to  fold 
My  ashes  in  the  embracing  mould, 
(If  haply  the  dark  will  of  fate 
Indulge  my  life  so  long  a  date) 
May  come  for  the  last  time  to  look 
Upon  my  childhood's  favourite  brook. 
Then  dimly  on  my  eyes  shall  gleam 
The  sparkle  of  thy  dancing  stream  ; 
And  faintly  on  my  ear  shall  fall 
Thy  prattling  current's  merry  call ; 
•  Yet  shalt  thou  flow  as  glad  and  bright 
As  when  thou  met'st  my  infant  sight. 

And  I  shall  sleep — and  on  thy  side, 
As  ages  after  ages  glide, 
Children  their  early  sports  shall  try. 
And  pass  to  hoary  age  and  die. 
But  thou,  unchanged  from  year  to  year, 
Gaily  shalt  play  and  glitter  here ; 
Amid  young  flowers  and  tender  grass 
Thy  endless  infancy  shalt  pass ; 
And,  singing  down  thy  narrow  glen, 
Shalt  mock  the  fading  race  of  men. 


LESSON  XVIIL 

The  Angler, — Washington  Irving, 

It  is  said,  that  many  an  unlucky  urchin  is  induced  to  run 
away  from  his  family,  and  betake  himself  to  a  seafaring  life, 
from  reading  the  history  of  Robinson  Crusoe  ;  and  I  suspect 
that,  in  like  manner,  many  of  those  worthy  gentlemen,  wno 
are  given  to  haunt  the  sides  of  pastoral  streams,  with  angle- 
5 


50  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  18, 

rod  in  hand,  may  trace  the  origin  of  their  passion  to  the 
seductive  pages  of  honest  Izaak  Walton.  I  recollect  study- 
ing his  *'  Complete  Angler"  several  years  since,  in  company 
with  a  knot  of  friends  in  America,  and,  moreover,  that  we 
were  all  completely  bitten  with  the  Angling  Mania.  It  was 
early  in  the  year ;  but  as  soon  as  the  weather  was  auspicious, 
and  that  the  spring  began  to  melt  into  the  verge  of  summer, 
we  took  rod  in  hand,  and  sallied  forth  into  the  country,  as 
stark  mad  as  was  ever  Don  duixote  from  reading  books  of 
chivalry. 

One  of  our  party  had  equalled  the  Don  in  the  fulness  of 
his  equipments  ;  being  attired  cap-a-pie  for  the  enterprise. 
He  wore  a  broad  skirted,  fustian  coat,  perplexed  with  half  a 
hundred  pockets ;  a  pair  of  stout  shoes  and  leathern  gaiters ;  a 
basket,  slung  on  one  side  for  fish  ;  a  patent  rod  ;  a  landing 
net,  and  a  score  of  other  inconveniences  only  to  be  found  in 
the  true  Angler's  Armory.  Thus  harnessed  for  the  field,  he 
was  as  great  a  matter  of  stare  and  wonderment  among  the 
country  folk,  who  had  never  seen  a  regular  angler,  as  was 
the  steel-clad  hero  of  La  Mancha,  among  the  goat-herds  of 
the  Sierra  Morena. 

Our  first  essay  was  along  a  mountain  brook,  among  the 
liighlands  of  the  Hudson — a  most  unfortunate  place  for  the 
exercise  of  those  piscatory  tactics,  which  had  been  in- 
vented along  the  velvet  margins  of  quiet  English  rivulets. 
It  was  one  of  those  wild  streams,  which  lavish,  among  our 
romantic  solitudes,  unheeded  beauties  enough  to  fill  the 
sketch  book  of  a  hunter  of  the  picturesque.  Sometimes  it 
would  leap  down  rocky  shelves,  making  small  cascades,  over 
which  the  trees  threw  their  broad  balancing  sprays — and 
long,  nameless  weeds  hung  in  fringes  from  the  impending 
banks,  dripping  with  diamond  drops.  Sometimes  it  would 
brawl  and  fret  along  a  ravine,  in  the  matted  shade  of  a  forest, 
filling  it  with  murmurs  ;  and,  after  this  termagant  career, 
would  steal  forth  into  open  day  with  the  most  placid  air  ima- 
ginable :  as  I  have  seen  some  shrew  of  a  housewife,  after 
filling  her  home  with  uproar  and  ill-humour,  come  dimpling 
out  of  doors,  swimming  and  courtesying  and  smiling  upon  all 
the  world. 

How  smoothly  would  this  vagrant  brook  glide,  at  such 
times,  through  some  bosom  of  green  meadow  land,  among 
the  mountains,  where  the  quiet  was  only  interrupted  by  the 
occasional  tinkling  of  a  bell,  from  the  lazy  cattle  among  the 
clover,  or  the  sound  of  the  woodcutter's  axe  from  the  neigh- 
bouring forest. 


Lesson  18.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  51 

For  my  part,  I  was  always  a  bungler  at  all  kinds  of  sport, 
that  required  either  patience  or  adroitness ;  and  had  not 
a.-igled  above  half  an  hour,  before  I  had  completely  "satisfied 
the  sentiment,"  and  convinced  myself  of  the  truth  of  Izaak 
Walton's  opinion,  that  angling  is  something  like  poetry — a 
man  must  be  born  to  it.  I  hooked  myself,  instead  of  the 
fish  ;  tangled  my  line  in  every  tree  ;  lost  my  bait ;  broke  my 
rod  ;  until  I  gave  up  the  attempt  in  despair,  and  passed  the 
day  under  the  trees,  reading  old  Walton  ;  satisfied  that  it  was 
his  fascinating  vein  of  honest  simplicity,  and  rural  feeling, 
that  had  bewitched  me,  and  not  the  passion  for  angling. 

My  companions,  however,  were  more  persevering  in  their 
delusion.  I  have  them,  at  this  moment,  before  my  eyes, 
stealing  along  the  border  of  the  brook,  where  it  lay  open  to 
the  day,  or  only  fringed  by  shrubs  and  bushes.  I  see  the 
bittern,  rising  with  hollow  scream,  as  they  break  in  upon  his 
rarely  invaded  haunt ;  the  king-fisher,  watching  them  from 
his  dry  tree,  that  overhangs  the  deep  black  mill-pond,  in  the 
gorge  of  the  hills  ;  the  tortoise,  letting  himself  slip  sideways, 
off  from  the  stone  or  log,  on  which  he  is  sunning  himself; 
and  the  panic  struck  frog,  plumping  in  headlong,  as  they 
approach,  and  spreading  an  alarm  throughout  the  watery 
world  around. 

I  recollect,  also,  that  after  toiling,  and  watching,  and 
creeping  about,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day,  with  scarcely 
any  success,  in  spite  of  all  our  admirable  apparatus,  a  lubber- 
ly country  urchin,  came  down  from  the  hills,  with  a  rod 
made  from  a  branch  of  a  tree,  a  few  yards  of  twine,  and,  as 
heaven  shall  help  me  !  I  believe,  a  crooked  pin  for  a  hook, 
baited  with  a  vile  earth  worm,  and,  in  half  an  hour,  he 
caught  more  fish,  than  we  had  had  nibbles  throughout  the 
day! 

But,  above  all,  I  recollect  the  "good,  honest,  wholesome, 
hungry,"  repast,  which  we  made  under  a  beech  tree,  just  by 
a  spring  of  pure  sweet  water,  that  stole  out  of  the  side  of  a 
hill ;  and  how,  when  it  was  over,  one  of  the  party  read  old 
Izaak  Walton's  scene  with  the  milk  maid,  while  I  lay  on 
the  grass,  and  built  castles  in  a  bright  pile  of  clouds,  until  I 
fell  asleep. 


52  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  19. 

LESSON  XIX. 

The  Angler^s  Song. — Longfellow. 

From  the  river's  plashy  bank, 

Where  the  sedge  grows  green  and  rank. 

And  the  twisted  woodbine  springs, 
Upward  speeds  the  morning  lark 
To  its  silver  cloud — and  hark  ! 

On  his  way  the  woodman  sings. 

On  the  dim  and  misty  lakes 
Gloriously  the  morning  breaks, 

And  the  eagle's  on  his  cloud  : — 
Whilst  the  wind,  with  sighing  woos 
To  its  arms  the  chaste  cold  ooze, 

And  the  rustling  reeds  pipe  loud. 

Where  the  embracing  ivy  holds 
Close  the  hoar  elm  in  its  folds, 

In  the  meadow's  fenny  land, 
And  the  winding  river  sweeps 
Through  its  shallows  and  still  deeps, — 

Silent  with  ray  rod  I  stand. 

But  when  sultry  suns  are  high 
Underneath  the  oak  I  lie. 
As  it  shades  the  water's  edge. 
And  I  mark  my  line,  away 
In  the  wheeling  eddy,  play, 
Tangling  with  the  river  sedge. 

When  the  eye  of  evening  looks 

On  the  green  woods  and  winding  brooks. 

And  the  wind  sighs  o'er  the  lea, — 
Woods  and  streams, — I  leave  you  then. 
While  the  shadow  in  the  glen 

T  lengthens  by  the  greenwood  tree. 


Lesson  20.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  53 

LESSON  XX. 

Extracts  from  Mr,   Quinci/^s  '^Observations  on  the  Boston 
Port  BilV     Published  3Iay  Uth,  1774. 

[Among  the  men,  whose  character  and  political  conduct 
had  an  acknowledged  influence  on  the  events  of  the  Ameri- 
can Revolution,  was  Josiah  Cluincy,  Jr.  The  unanimous  con- 
sent of  his  cotemporaries  has  associated  his  name  in  imper- 
ishable union,  with  that  of  Otis,  Adams,  Hancock,  Warren, 
and  other  distinguished  men,  whose  talents  and  intrepidity 
influenced  the  events,  which  led  to  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence. This  honour  has  been  granted  to  him,  notwith- 
standing his  political  path  was,  in  every  period  of  its  short  ex- 
tent, interrupted  by  intense  professional  labours,  and  was  ter- 
minated by  death,  at  the  early  age  of  thirty-one  years.  (1775). 

Those  who  recollect  him,  speak  of  his  eloquence,  his  genius, 
and  his  capacity  for  intellectual  labour ;  of  the  inextinguish- 
able zeal  and  absorbing  ardour  of  his  exertions,  whether 
directed  to  political  or  professional  objects  ;  of  the  entire- 
ness,  with  which  he  threw  his  soul  into  every  cause,  in  which 
he  engaged ;  of  the  intrepidity  of  his  spirit,  and  of  his  in- 
dignant sense  of  the  wrongs  of  his  country. — Preface  to 
Quincy's  Memoirs.] 

After  a  masterly  survey  of  the  system  of  colonial  oppression, 
pursued  by  the  British  Government,  he  thus  proceeds  to  ani- 
mate the  resentment,  and  to  inflame  the  zeal  of  his  coun- 
trymen. 

'Let  us  pause,  my  fellow  citizens,  and  consider.  Hath  the 
execrable  plan,  thus  systematically  and  for  a  long  time  pur- 
sued, at  last  taken  effect  1  Are  all  the  constitutional  powers 
of  Great  Britain,  so  lowered  in  the  estimation  of  the  people, 
that  their  representatives  are  detested,  and  their  nobility 
despised  ?  Is  their  king  possessed  of  power  sufficient  to 
make  fear  a  substitute  for  love  1  Has  he  an  army  at  his 
absolute  command,  with  which  no  force  in  his  empire  is 
able  to  cope  ? 

Judge,  ye,  my  countrymen,  of  these  questions,  upon  which 
I  may  not  decide  ; — judge  for  yourselves,  of  the  political 
state  of  that  kingdom,  which  claims  a  right  of  disposing  of  our 
all, — a  right  of  laying  every  burden  that  power  can  impose, — 
a  right  of  overrunning  our  soil  and  freeholds  with  mercenary 
legions,  and  still  more  mercenary  placemen  and  dependents. 
Thus  luxury  and  riot,  debauchery  and  havock,  are  to  become 
5* 


U  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  '20. 

the  order  and  peace  of  our  cities,  and  the  stability  and  hon- 
our of  our  times. 

To  this,  and  like  hopeful  purposes,  we  find  "•  the  fullest 
directions,  sent  to  the  several  officers  of  the  revenue,  that  all 
the  produce  of  the  American  duties,  arising,  or  to  arise,  by 
virtue  of  any  British  act  of  Parliament,  should,  from  time  to 
time,  be  paid  to  the  deputy  paymaster,  in  America,  to  defray 
the  subsistence  of  the  troops,  and  any  military  expenses  in- 
curred in  the  colonies." 

Highly  favoured  Americans  !  you  are  to  be  wasted  with 
taxes  and  impositions,  in  order  to  satisfy  the  charges  of  those 
armaments,  which  are  to  blast  your  country  with  the  most 
terrible  of  all  evils  ; — universal  corruption,  and  a  military 
government. 

The  reigns  of  past  and  present  great  monarchs,  when  com- 
pared, often  present  a  striking  similitude.  The  Emperour, 
Charles  the  Fifth,  having  exalted  the  royal  prerogative,  on 
the  ruins  of  the  privileges  of  the  Castilians,  allowed  the  name 
of  the  Cortes  to  remain  ;  and,  the  formality  of  holding  it  thus 
continued,  he  reduced  its  authority  and  jurisdiction  to  noth- 
ing, and  modelled  it  in  such  a  manner,  that  '*it  became," 
says  Dr.  Robertson,  "rather  a  junto  of  the  servants  of  the 
crown,  than  an  assembly  of  the  representatives  of  the  people." 
The  success  of  Charles,  in  abolishing  the  privileges  of  the 
Commons,  and  in  breaking  the  power  of  the  nobles  of  Cas- 
tile, encouraged  an  invasion  of  the  liberties  of  Arragon,  which 
were  yet  more  extensive. 

Attend  Americans  !  reflect  on  the  situation  of  your  mo- 
ther country,  and  consider  the  late  conduct  of  your  brethren 
in  Britain,  towards  this  continent.  "The  Castilians,  accus- 
tomed to  subjection  themselves,  assisted  in  imposing  the 
yoke  on  their  more  happy  and  independent  neighbours." 

Hath  not  Britain  treated  America  as  Castile  did  Arragon  ? 
Have  not  Britons  imposed  on  our  necks  the  same  yoke, 
which  the  Castilians  imposed  on  the  happy  Arragonese  ? 
Yes  !  I  speak  it  with  grief, — I  speak  it  with  anguish, — Bri- 
tons are  our  oppressors  :  I  speak  it  with  shame, — I  speak  it 
with  indignation, — we  are  slaves. 

As  force  first  fixes  the  chains  of  vassalage,  so  cowardice 
restrains  an  enslaved  people  from  bursting  asunder  their 
bonds.  But  the  case,  perhaps,  is  not  desperate,  till  the  yoke 
has  been  so  long  borne,  that  the  understanding,  and  the 
spirits  of  the  people  are  sunk  into  ignorance  and  barbarism, 
supineness.  and  perfect  inactivity.     Such,  I  trust,  is  not  the 


Lesson  20.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  55 

Yet  be  not  amused,  my  countrymen  ! — the  extirpation  of 
bondage,  and  the  re-establishment  of  freedom  are  not  of  easy 
acquisition.  The  worst  passions  of  the  human  heart,  and 
the  most  subtle  projects  of  the  human  mind  are  leagued 
against  you  ;  and  principalities  and  powers  have  acceded  to 
the  combination.  Trials  and  conPiicts,  you  must,  thereibre, 
endure  ; — hazards  and  jeopardies — of  life  and  fortune — will 
attend  the  struggle.  Such  is  the  fate  of  all  noble  exertions 
for  publick  liberty  and  social  happiness.  Enter  not  the  lists 
without  thought  and  consideration,  lest  you  arm  with  timidi- 
ty and  combat  with  irresolution. 

Having  engaged  in  the  conflict,  let  nothing  discourage 
your  vigour  or  repel  your  perseverance.  Remember,  that 
submission  to  the  yoke  of  bondage,  is  the  worst  that  can 
befall  a  people,  after  the  most  fierce  and  unsuccessful  resis- 
tance. What  can  the  misfortunes  of  vanquishment  take 
away,  which  despotism  and  rapine  would  spare  ?  *'  It  had 
been  easy,"  said  the  great  lawgiver,  Solon,  to  the  Athenians, 
**to  repress  the  advances  of  tyranny  and  prevent  its  establish- 
ment ;  but  now  it  is  established,  and  grown  to  some  height, 
it  would  be  more  glorious  to  demolish  it." 

But  nothing  glorious  is  accomplished,  nothing  great  is 
attained,  nothing  valuable  is  secured,  without  magnanimity 
and  devotion  of  heart  to  the  service.  Brutus-like,  therefore, 
dedicate  yourselves,  at  this  day,  to  the  service  of  your  coun- 
try ;  and  henceforth  live  a  life  of  liberty  and  glory.  "  On 
the  ides  of  March,"  said  the  great  and  good  man  to  his  friend 
Cassius,  just  before  the  battle  of  Philippi, — ''  on  the  ides  of 
March  I  devoted  my  life  to  my  country,  and  since  that  time 
I  have  lived  a  life  of  liberty  and  glory." 

Inspired  with  publick  virtue,  touched  with  the  wrongs  and 
indignant  at  the  insults  offered  his  country,  the  high-spirited 
Cassius  exhibits  an  heroic  example  ;  "  Resolved  as  we  are," 
replied  the  hero  to  his  friend,  "  resolved  as  we  are,  let  us 
march  against  the  enemy  ;  for  though  we  should  not  conquer, 
we  have  nothing  to  fear." 

Spirits  like  these,  rose  in  Rome — and  have  since  adorned 
Britain ;  such  also  will,  one  day,  make  glorious,  this  more 
western  world.  America  hath  in  store  her  Bruti  and  Cassii 
— her  Hampdens  and  Sidneys — patriots  and  heroes,  who  will 
form  a  band  of  brothers  : — men  who  will  have  memories  and 
feelings — courage  and  swords  ; — courage  that  shall  inflame 
their  ardent  bosoms,  till  their  bands  cleave  to  their  swords — 
and  their  swords  to  the  enemies'  hearts.' 


56  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  21. 

LESSON  XXI. 

Town  and  Country, — Miss  Sedgwick. 

Edward  was  ten,  Julia  eight  years  old,  when  they  remov- 
ed from  town.  They  felt  a  very  natural  reluctance,  at  leav- 
ing the  city,  their  companions,  and  the  only  pleasures  they 
had  ever  known.  But  the  state  of  their  feelings  will  best 
appear,  by  a  conversation,  which  occurred  between  them  and 
their  mother,  shortly  before  their  removal,  while  Edward  was 
assisting  her  to  pack  up  some  vials,  which,  with  their  con- 
tents, composed  his  chemical  laboratory. 

"  You  are  very  good,  dear  mother,"  he  said,  *'  to  take  such 
pains  to  pack  up  these  things  ;  you  have  been  in  such  a 
panick  about  spontaneous  combustion,  ever  since  the  night 
you  found  the  phosphorus*  on  fire,  that  I  expected  my  little 
cupboard,  and  all  its  treasures,  would  be  condemned.  But," 
he  added,  with  a  sigh,  *'  I  suppose  you  think,  I  shall  want  my 
chemistry,  more  than  ever,  to  amuse  me  in  the  country." 

'*  No,  my  dear  boy,  not  more  than  ever." 

"  Oh,  mother  !  Bob  Eaton's  father  says  the  country  is  such 
a  bore — and  Bob  thinks  so  too." 

''And  what,"  asked  Mrs.  Sackville,  "do  Bob  Eaton's 
father  and  Bob  Eaton,  mean  by  a  bore  ?" 

*'  Why,  they  mean,  certainly" — Edward  began  in  a  confi- 
dent tone;  and  then  faltered  a  little ;  **  that  is,  I  suppose  they 
mean,  that — that — that — "  Edward  found  it  as  difficult  to 
explain  their  meaning,  as  the  original  utterers  of  the  profound 
remark  would  have  done,  if  suddenly  called  on  ;  and  he  was 
glad  to  be  interrupted  by  a  soliloquy  of  his  iittle  sister,  who 
stood  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  wrapping  something  in  half 
a  dozen  envelopes. 

"  Farewell !"  sh6  exclaimed,  "ks  the  man  said  in  the  play, 
*  a  long  farewell,'  to  my  dear  dancing  shoes." 

*'  Pardon  me.  Miss  Julia,"  said  her  mother,  *'  for  cutting 
short  such  a  pretty  patlietick  parting  ;  but  here  is  another 
pair  of  dancing  shoes,  which  you  will  please  to  put  with  those 
you  already  have,  and  I  trust  you  will  have  the  pleasure  of 
dancing  them  both  out,  before  you  come  to  town  again." 

*'  Dancing  them  out,  mother  !  shall  we  dance  in  the  coun- 
try ?"    exclaimed    both   the    children    in    one    breath.      "  I 

*  Phosphorus  is  a  matter  which  shines  or  even  burns  spontaneously, 
and  without  tiie  application  of  any  sensible  fire. 


Lesson  21.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  57 

thought,"  continued  Edward,  "  that  we  should  have  nothing 
to  do  in  the  country  but  get  our  lessons  ;  and  all  work  and 
no  play,  you  know,  mother,  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy." 

"  Oh  yes,  Ned,  I  know  that  favourite  proverb  of  all  chil- 
dren. I  am  sorry  to  find  that  you  have  such  a  dread  of  the 
country.  You  know,  my  dear  children,  that  your  father  and 
I  are  devoted  to  your  welfare,  and  that  we  should  do  nothing 
that  would  not  contribute  to  your  happiness." 

Edward  had  quick  feelings,  and  he  perceived  that  there 
was  something  reproachful  in  his  mother's  manner.  "  I  am 
sure,"  he  said,  "  that  Julia  and  I  wish  to  do  every  thing  that 
you  and  papa  like." 

"  That  is  not  enough,  my  dear  boy,  we  wish  you  to  like 
to  do  what  we  like." 

"  But  surely,  mother,  you  cannot  blame  us  for  not  wishing 
to  go  and  live  in  the  country." 

"  No,  Edward,  I  should  as  soon  think  of  blaming  poor 
blind  Billy,  because  he  cannot  see.  Unhappily,  you  have 
been  entirely  confined  in  town,  and  are  ignorant  of  the  plea- 
sures of  the  country.  I  only  blame  you  for  thinking,  that 
your  father  and  I  would  voluntarily  do  any  thing,  to  lessen 
your  innocent  pleasures.' 

"  Oh,  mother  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  "  we  did  not  think 
any  thing  about  that." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  perhaps  I  am  wrong  in  expecting  you  to 
think — reflection  is  the  habit  of  a  riper  age  than  yours.  You 
must  trust  me  for  one  year,  and  at  the  expiration  of  that 
period,  you  and  your  sister  shall  decide  whether  we  return  to 
town,  or  remain  in  the  country." 

"  Oh,  mother,  how  very  good  you  are.  One  year — well, 
one  year  won't  *>e  so  very-  long — only  think,  Julia,  in  one 
year  we  shall  be  back  again." 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  Edward,"  said  his  mother,  *'  you  are 
not  to  decide  till  the  end  of  the  year." 

"  Oh,  I  know  that  mamma,  but,  of  course,  we  shall  decide 
to  come  back." 

Mrs.  Sackville  looked  incredulous,  and  smiled  at  his  chil- 
dish confidence  in  his  own  constancy.  "  I  see,  mother,  you 
don't  believe  me  ;  but  of  course,  Julia  and  I  can't  wish  to 
live  away  from  every  thing  that  is  amusing." 

"Come,  Julia,  your  brother  has  taken  it  upon  himself  to 
be  spokesman,  but  let  me  hear  from  you,  what  are  the  amuse- 
ments that  you  so  dread  to  leave." 

**  Why,  in  the  first  place,  mother,  there  is  our  dancing 


58  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  21. 

school ;  every  time  I  go  to  take  my  lesson,  Mr.  Dubois  says, 
*  Poor  Miss  Julie,  no  cotillon  ;  no  gavot  in  de  country ;  ah, 
what  a  savage  place  !  de  country  !'  " 

"  Dubois  forever  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  as  Julia  finished 
her  mimickry  of  her  master's  tone  and  grimace.  "  Oh,  he  is 
the  drollest  creature — and  Julia  is  such  a  mimick — the  girls 
will  have  nobody  to  make  them  laugh,  when  she  is  gone." 

Mrs.  Sackville  secretly  rejoiced  that  Julia  was  to  be  re- 
moved, in  a  great  degree,  from  the  temptation  to  exercise  so 
mischievous  a  faculty.  She,  however,  did  not  turn  the  drift 
of  the  conversation  to  make  any  remarks  on  it.  **  Console 
Mr.  Dubois,"  she  said,  *'  my  dear,  Julia,  with  the  assurance, 
that  your  mother  will  take  care  that  you  do  not  lose  the 
benefit  of  his  labours  in  the  service  of  the  graces.  Your 
father  tells  me,  there  is  in  our  neighbourhood,  a  very  decent 
musician,  who  does  all  the  fiddling  for  the  parish.  I  have 
purchased  some  cotillion  musick,  and  I  hope  your  favourite 
tunes  will  soon  resound  in  our  new  mansion." 

*'Oh,  that  will  be  delightful,  mother,  but  Edward  and  I 
cannot  dance  a  cotillion  alone." 

"  No,  but  we  are  not  going  to  a  desert.  There  are  enough 
clever  children  in  the  neighbourhood,  who  will  form  a  set 
with  you  ;  and  now,  Julia,  that  I  see,  by  your  brightened  eye, 
that  you  think  the  affliction  of  leaving  the  dancing  school  will 
be  alleviated,  what  is  the  next  subject  of  your  regret  ?" 

*'  The  next,  mother  1  what  is  next,  Edward  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  call  next,  Julia,  but  I  think  the 
theatre  comes  next." 

"O!  the  theatre — yes,  the  theatre — how  could  I  forget 
the  theatre  ?" 

"Well,  my  children,  I  think  you  can  live  without  the  thea- 
tre, as  you  go  but  once,  or  at  most,  twice  in  a  season  ;  a 
pleasure  that  occupies  so  small  a  portion  of  your  time,  can- 
not be  very  important  to  your  happiness,  or  regretted  very 
deeply." 

"  A  small  portion  of  time,  to  be  sure,  mother,"  replied 
Edward  ;  "  but  then  you  will  own  it  is  delightful ;  you  your- 
self exclaimed  the  other  night,  when  the  curtain  drew  up, 
'  what  a  beautiful  spectacle  !'  " 

''  Yes,  my  love,  but  nature  has  far  more  beautiful  specta- 
cles, and  I  have  kept  you  too  long  from  them." 

''  But,  mother,"  insisted  Edward,  ''  nothinij  can  be  so  plea- 
sant and  startling,  as  when  the  curtain  suddenly  draws  up, 
and  discovers  a  beautiful  scene." 


Lesson  21.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  59 

*'  It  may  be  more  startling,  my  dear  Ned,  but  it  is  not  half 
so  delightful  as  to  see  the  curtain  of  night  withdrawn  in  a 
clear  summer  morning,  and  the  lovely  objects  of  nature,  light- 
ing up  with  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun." 

''  But,  mother,  there  is  the  orchestra — " 

"  And  in  the  country,  my  dear,  we  have  bands  of  voluntary 
musicians  on  every  side  of  us,  who  set  all  their  wants  and  all 
their  pleasures  to  musick,  and  pour  them  forth  in  the  sweetest 
notes,  from  morning  till  night.  These  musicians  will  hover 
about  our  house  and  garden  the  entire  summer,  and  ask  no 
reward,  but  to  share  with  us  our  cherries  and  raspberries; 
a  small  pittance  from  the  generous  stores  of  summer.  But, 
come,  my  children,  what  next  ?" 

"  What  next,  Julia  ?  Let  us  think — Oh,  there  is  the 
museum,  I  am  sure  mother  you  cannot  say  a  word  against 
the  museum — such  a  variety  of  curiosities,  and  elegant  speci- 
mens of  every  thing,  and  I  have  heard  you  and  papa  both 
say,  that  it  is  a  very  instructive,  as  well  as  amusing  place 
to  visit." 

"  Certainly  it  is,  my  dear,  a  vast  collection  of  natural  won- 
ders, and  artificial  curiosities  ;  and  I  am  glad  you  value  it 
sufficiently  to  regret  it.  But,  my  dear  children,  nature  has 
her  museums  every  where  ;  her  productions  are  all  curiosi- 
ties, and  the  more  you  study  them,  the  more  you  will  admire 
the  wisdom  and  goodness  of  their  Creator.  Every  vegetable, 
that  springs  from  the  kind  bosom  of  the  earth — the  earth 
itself — the  rocks — the  pebbles — living  creatures,  their  in- 
stincts and  habitudes — are  all  a  study  for  you.  The  volume 
is  open  and  out-spread  before  you ;  God  grant  me  grace  to 
train  your  minds  and  hearts,  that  you  may  read  therein — 
read  with  that  enlightened  understanding  and  benevolent 
spirit,  which  prompted  a  christian  philosopher  to  say,  'the 
air,  the  earth,  the  water,  teem  with  delighted  existence.  On 
whichever  side  I  turn  my  eyes,  myriads  of  happy  beings 
crowd  upon  my  view.' " 

Any  further  record  of  the  conversation  would  be  superflu- 
ous, and  might  prove  tedious.  It  is  our  purpose,  to  give 
some  anecdotes  of  Edward  and  Julia,  and  not  their  history. 


As  might  have  been  expected,  our  young  friends  in  the 
country,  were  like  beings  rescued  from  an  artificial  mode  of 
existence,  and  restored  to  their  native  element ;  and  when 


60  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  21. 

their  mother,  at  the  expiration  of  the  year,  asked  them  if 
they  were  ready  to  return  to  town — 

♦'Return  to  town,  now,  mother  !"  exclaimed  Edward,  **rt 
is  impossible." 

"  Some  time,  or  other,  mamma,  perhaps  we  should  like  to 
go  back,  not  now,"  said  Julia.  "  We  cannot  go  now,  when 
we  have  so  much  to  do.  The  frost  is  just  out  of  the  ground, 
and  Ned  and  I  are  as  busy  as  bees  in  our  garden." 

'*  I  think  old  Caesar  might  take  charge  of  your  bantams, 
Ned,"  said  Julia;  "but  I  am  sure  my  pet  lamb — " 

*'Oh,  Julia,"  interrupted  Edward,  laughing,  "give  her  the 
sentimental^French  name." 

"  Very  well,  I  will,  and  you  may  laugh  as  much  as  you 
please  ;  Orpheline — I  am  sure  Orpheline  would  not  relish 
her  food  from  any  hand  but  mine,  she  is  so  used  to  me  ;  and 
my  darlina  little  partridges,  that  I  am  trying  to  bring  up  to 
be  domestick  birds,  I  would  not  leave  them  before  I  have  made 
a  '  satisfactory  experiment,'  as  papa  says  ;  and  then,  mother, 
we  did  not  half  till  our  herbariums  last  summer.  Oh,  we 
have  a  world  of  business  on  our  hands,"  ^continued  Julia, 
with  the  air  of  one,  who  duly  realised  the  importance  of  her 
momentous  concerns. 

Mrs.  Sackville  smiled,  but  made  no  reply,  and  Edward 
said,  "  I  was  thinking,  mother,  as  I  sat  on  the  door  step  last 
evening,  and  listened  to  the  hum  of  the  happy  little  creatures, 
that  are  waking  up  for  the  season,  that  I  had  new  eyes  and 
new  ears  given  to  me,  since  I  came  to  live  in  the  country. 
Even  the  hoarse  croaking  of  the  frogs  in  our  meadow,  sound- 
ed pleasantly  to  me  ;  quite  musical." 

*' Equal  to  the  musick  of  the  orchestra,  my  dear  Ned." 

"Not  quite  so  fine,  mother,"  replied  Edward,  "but  it 
seemed  to  have  more  meaning  in  it." 

"You  are  right,  my  dear  Edward,"  said  Mrs.  Sackville, 
"  you  have  new  senses,  or  rather,  your  senses  are  unlocked 
to  the  reception  of  the  sweet  influences  of  nature.  I  have 
more  happiness  than  I  can  express  to  you,  my  dear  children, 
in  finding  that  you  have  already  imbibed  a  taste  for  those 
pure  pleasures,  that  will  remain  the  same  whatever  change  of 
condition  or  circumstances  may  await  you." 


Lesson  22.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  61 


LESSON  XXII. 

EVENING. 

Description    of  Narragansett    Bay    and  the    surrounding 
Scenery, — Eastburn. 

The  sun  is  sinking  from  the  sky 
In  calm  and  cloudless  majesty  ; 
And  cooler  hours  with  gentle  sway, 
Succeed  the  fiery  heat  of  day. 
Forest  and  shore,  and  rippling  tide, 
Confess  the  evening's  influence  wide. 
Seen  lovelier  in  that  fading  light, 
That  heralds  the  approaching  night ; — 
That  magic  colouring  nature  throws, 
To  deck  her  beautiful  repose  ; — 
When  floating  on  the  breeze  of  even, 
Long  clouds  of  purple  streak  the  heaven, 
With  brighter  tints  of  glory  blending. 
And  darker  hues  of  night  descending. 
While,  hastening  to  its  shady  rest, 
Each  weary  songster  seeks  its  nes£, 
Chanting  a  last,  a  farewell  lay, 
As  gloomier  falls  the  parting  day. 

Broad  Narragansett's  bosom  blue, 
Has  shone  with  every  varying  hue ; 
The  mystic  alchemy  of  even. 
Its  rich  delusions  all  has  given. 
The  silvery  sheet  unbounded  spread. 
First  melting  from  the  waters  fled  ; 
Next  the  wide  path  of  beaten  gold, 
Flashing  with  fiery  sparkles  rolled  ; — 
As  all  its  gorgeous  glories  died. 
An  amber  tinge  blushed  o'er  the  tide  ; 
Faint  and  more  faint,  as  more  remote, 
The  lessening  ripples  peaceful  float  ; 
And  now,  one  ruby  line  alone 
Trembles,  is  paler,  and  is  gone, — 
And  from  the  blue  wave  fades  away, 
The  last  life-tint  of  dying  day. 
6 


62  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  22. 

In  darkness  veiled,  was  seen  no  more 
Conaniciit's  extended  shore  ; 
Each  little  isle  with  bosom  green, 
Descending  mists  impervious  screen  ; 
One  gloomy  shade  o'er  all  the  woods 
Of  forest-fringed  Aquetnet  broods  ; 
Where  solemn  oak  was  seen  before, 
Beside  the  rival  sycamore  ; 
Or  pine  and  cedar  lined  the  height, 
Ail  in  one  livery  brown  were  dight. 

But  lo  !  with  orb  serene  on  high, 
The  round  moon  climbs  the  eastern  sky  ; 
The  stars  all  quench  their  feebler  rays 
Before  her  universal  blaze. 
Round  moon  !  how  sweetly  dost  thou  smile 
Above  that  green  reposing  isle, — 
— Soft  cradled  in  the  illumined  bay. 

Where  from  its  bank  the  shadows  seem 
Melting  in  filmy  light  away. 

Far  does  thy  tempered  lustre  stream. 
Chequering  the  tufted  groves  on  high. 
While  glens  in  gloom  beneath  them  lie. 

Oft  sheeted  with  the  ghostly  beam. 
Mid  the  thick  forest's  mass  of  shade. 

The  shingled  roof  is  gleaming  white, 
Where  labour,  in  the  cultured  glade, 
Has  all  the  wild  a  garden  made. 

And  there  with  silvery  tassels  bright, 
The  serried  maize  is  waving  low. 
While  fitful  shadows  come  and  go, 
Swift  o'er  its  undulating  seas, 
As  gently  breathes  the  evening  breeze. 

Solemn  it  is,  in  green  woods  deep. 
That  magic  light  o'er  nature's  sleep  ; 

Where  in  long  ranks  the  pillars  gray, 
Aloft  their  mingling  structures  bear, — 
Mingling  in  gloom  or  tracery  fair. 

Where  find  the  unbroken  beams  their  way, — 

Or  through  close  trellis  flickering  strung, 
Whilo  sheeny  leaflets  here  and  there 


Lesson  23.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  63 

Flutter,  with  momentary  glow  ; 

'Tis  wayward  life  revealed  below, 

With  chequered  gleams  of  joy  and  wo  ! 

And  those  pure  realms  above  that  shine, 

So  chaste,  so  vivid,  so  divine, 

Are  the  sole  type  that  Heaven  has  shown 

Of  those  more  lovely  realms,  its  own  ! 


LESSON  XXIII. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen, — Washington  Irving. 

Doctor  Knipperhausen  was  a  native  of  the  Palatinate,  in 
Germany  ;  from^  whence,  in  company  with  many  of  his  coun- 
trymen, he  had  taken  refuge  in  England,  on  account  of  re- 
ligious persecution.  He  was  one  of  nearly  three  thousand 
Palatines  who  came  over  from  England  in  1710,  under  the 
protection  of  Governour  Hunter.  Where  the  Doctor  had 
studied  ;  how  he  acquired  his  medical  knowledge  ;  and  where 
he  had  received  his  diploma,  it  is  hard  at  present  to  say,  for 
no  body  knew  at  the  time  ;  yet  it  is  certain  that  his  profound 
skill  and  abstruse  knowledge,  were  the  talk  and  wonder  of 
the  common  people,  far  and  near.  His  practice  was  totally 
different  from  that  of  any  other  physician,  consisting  in  mys- 
terious compounds,  known  only  to  himself,  ;  in  the  preparing 
and  administering  of  which,  it  was  said,  he  always  consulted 
the  stars. 

So  high  an  opinion  was  entertained  of  his  skill,  particular- 
ly by  the  German  and  Dutch  inhabitants,  that  they  always 
resorted  to  him  in  desperate  cases.  He  was  one  of  those  in- 
fallible doctors,  that  are  always  effecting  sudden  and  surpris- 
ing cures,  when  the  patient  has  been  given  up  by  all  the 
regular  physicians ;  unless,  as  is  shrewdly  observed,  the  case 
has  been  left  too  long,  before  it  was  put  into  his  hands.  The 
doctor's  library  was  the  talk  and  marvel  of  the  neighbourhood, 
I  might  almost  say  of  the  entire  burgh. 

The  good  people  looked  with  reverence  at  a  man  that  had 
three  whole  shelves  full  of  books,  and  «ome  of  those  too,  as 
large  as  a  family  bible.  There  were  many  disputes  among  the 
members  of  the  little  Lutheran  church,  as  to  which  was  the 
wisest  man,  the  doctor  or  the  dominie  ;  some  of  his  admirers 
even  went  so  far  as  to  say,  that  he  knew  more  than  the  gover- 


64  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  28. 

nour  himself — in  a  word,  it  was  thought  that  there  was  no  end 
to  his  knowledge  ! 

As  the  Doctor  increased  in  weahh,  he  began  to  extend  his 
{)Ossessions,  and  to  look  forward,  like  other  great  men,  to  the 
time  when  he  should  retire  to  the  repose  of  a  country  seat- 
For  this  purpose  he  had  purchased  a  farm,  or  as  Dutch  set- 
tlers called  it,  a  Bowerie,  a  few  miles  from  town.  It  had  been 
the  residence  of  a  wealthy  family,  that  had  returned,  some 
time  since,  to  Holland.  A  large  mansion  house  stood  in  the 
centre  of  it,  very  much  out  of  repair,  which  in  consequence  of 
certain  reports,  had  received  the  appellation  of  the  liauntfd 
House.  Either  from  these  reports,  or,  from  its  actual  dreari- 
ness, the  Doctor  had  found  it  impossible  to  get  a  tenant ;  and, 
that  the  place  might  not  fall  to  ruin,  before  he  could  rei^ide  in 
it  himself,  he  had  placed  a  country  boor  with  his  family, 
in  one  wing,  with  the  privilege  of  cultivating  the  farm  on 
shares. 

The  Doctor  now  felt  all  the  dignity  of  a  landholder  rising 
within  him.  He  had  a  little  of  the  German  pride  of  territory 
in  his  composition,  and  almost  looked  upon  himself  as  owner 
of  a  principality.  He  began  to  complain  of  the  fatigue  of  busi- 
liess,  and  was  fond  of  riding  out  **  to  look  at  his  estate." 

His  little  expeditions  to  his  lands,  were  attended  with  a 
bustle  and  parade,  that  created  a  sensation  throughout  the 
neighbourhood.  His  wall-eyed  horse  stood  stamping  and 
whisking  off  the  flies,  for  a  full  hour,  before  the  house.  Then 
the  Doctor's  saddle  bags  would  be  brought  out  and  adjusted, 
then,  after  a  little  while,  his  cloak  would  be  rolled  up  and 
strapped  to  the  saddle  ;  then  his  umbrella  would  be  buckled  to 
the  cloak  ;  while,  in  the  mean  time,  a  group  of  ragged  boys, 
that  observant  class  of  beings,  would  gather  before  the  <ioor. 

At  length  the  Doctor  would  issue  forth  in  apair  of  jack  boots, 
that  reached  above  his  knees,  and  a  cocked  hat  flatted  down 
in  front.  As  he  was  a  short  fat  man,  he  took  some  time  to 
mount  into  the  saddle,  and  when  there,  he  took  some  time  to 
have  the  saddle  and  stirrups  properly  adjusted  ;  enjoying  the 
wonder  and  admiration  of  the  urchin  crowd.  Even  after  he  had 
set  off,  he  would  pause  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  or  trot  back 
two  or  three  times,  to  give  some  parting  orders,  which  were  an- 
swered by  the  house  keeper  from  the  door,  or  Dolph  from  the 
study,  or  the  black  cook  from  the  cellar,  or  the  chambermaid 
from  the  garret  window,  and  there  were  generally  some  last 
words  bawled  after  him,  just  as  he  was  turning  the  corner. 
The  whole  neighbourhood  would  be  aroused  by  this  pomp  and 


Lesion  24.]        AIVIERICAN  LITERATURE.  65 

circumstance.  The  cobbler  would  leave  his  last ;  the  barber 
would  thrust  out  his  frizzled  head,  with  a  comb  sticking  in  it ; 
a  knot  would  collect  at  the  grocer's  door  ;  and  the  word  would 
be  buzzed,  from  one  end  of  the  street  to  the  other,  **  the  Doc- 
tor's riding  out  to  his  country  seat !" 


LESSON  XXIV. 

Extract  from   a   Biographical    Notice   of   Doctor  Joseph 
Warren. — Knapp. 

His  next  oration  was  delivered  March  6th,  1775.  It  was 
at  his  own  solicitation,  that  he  was  appointed  to  this  duty  a 
second  time.  The  fact  is  illustrative  of  his  character,  and 
worthy  of  remembrance.  Some  British  officers  of  the  army, 
then  in  Boston,  had  publickly  declared,  that  it  should  be  at 
the  price  of  the  life  of  any  man  to  speak  of  the  event  of  March 
5,  1770,  on  that  anniversary.  Warren's  soul  took  fire  at  such 
a  threat,  so  openly  made,  and  he  wished  for  the  honour  of 
braving  it.  This  was  readily  granted,  for  at  such  a  time,  a 
man  would  probably  find  but  few  rivals. 

Many,  who  would  spurn  the  thought  of  personal  fear,  might 
be  apprehensive  that  they  would  be  so  far  disconcerted,  as  to 
forget  their  discourse.  It  is  easier  to  fight  bravely,  than  to 
think  clearly  or  correctly  in  danger.  Passion  sometimes 
nerves  the  arm  to  fight,  but  disturbs  the  regular  current  of 
thought.  The  day  came,  and  the  weather  was  remarkably 
fine.  The  Old  South  Meeting-house  was  crowded  at  an  early 
hour.  The  British  officers  occupied  the  aisles,  the  flight  of 
steps  to  the  pulpit,  and  several  of  them  were  within  it.  It 
was  not  precisely  known  whether  this  was  accident  or  de- 
sign. 

The  orator,  with  the  assistance  of  his  friends,  made  his  en- 
trance at  the  pulpit  window,  by  a  ladder.  The  officers  see- 
ing his  coolness  and  intrepidity,  made  way  for  him  to  advance 
and  address  the  audience.  An  awful  stillness  preceded  his 
exordium.  Each  man  felt  the  palpitations  of  his  own  heart, 
and  saw  the  pale,  but  determined  face  of  his  neighbour.  The 
speaker  began  his  oration  in  a  firm  tone  of  voice,  and  pro- 
ceeded with  great  energy  and  pathos.  Warren  and  his 
friends  were  prepared  to  chastise  contumely,  prevent  disgrace j 
and  avenge  an  attempt  at  assassination, 
6* 


66  CLASS  EOOk  OF  [Lesson  25. 

The  scene  was  sublime ;  a  patriot  in  whom  the  flush  of 
youth,  and  the  grace  and  dignity  of  manhood  were  combined, 
stood  armed  in  the  sanctuary  of  God,  to  animate  and  encour- 
age the  sons  of  liberty,  and  to  hurl  defiance  at  their  oppres- 
sors. The  orator  commenced  with  the  early  history  of  the 
country,  described  the  tenure,  by  which  we  held  our  liberties 
and  property — the  affection  we  had  constantly  shown  the  pa- 
rent country,  and  boldly  told  them  how,  and  by  whom  these 
blessings  of  life  had  been  violated* 

There  was  in  this  appeal  to  Britain — in  this  description  of 
suffering,  agony  and  horror,  a  calm  and  high-souled  defiance* 
which  must  have  chilled  the  blood  of  every  sensible  foe. 
Such  another  hour  has  seldom  happened  in  the  history  of  man, 
and  is  not  surpassed  in  the  records  of  nations.  The  thunders 
of  Demosthenes  rolled  at  a  distance  from  Philip  and  his  host — 
and  Tully  poured  the  fiercest  torrent  of  his  invective,  when 
Catiline  was  at  a  distance  and  his  dagger  no  longer  to  be 
feared,  but  Warren's  speech  was  made  to  proud  oppressors 
jesting  on  their  arras,  whose  errand  it  was  to  overawe,  and 
whose  business  it  was  to  fight. 

If  the  deed  of  Brutus  deserved  to  be  commemorated  by  his- 
tory, poetry,  painting  and  sculpture,  should  not  this  instance 
of  patriotism  and  bravery  be  held  in  lasting  remembrance  1 
If  he 

*^That  struck  the  foremost  man  of  all  this  world,  '* 

was  hailed  as  the  first  of  freemen,  what  honours  are  not  due 
to  him,  wlio  undismayed  bearded  the  British  lion,  to  sho.v  the 
world  what  his  countrymen  dared  to  do  in  the  cause  of  iiuer- 
ty  ?  If  the  statue  of  Brutus  was  placed  among  tho?eof  the  gods, 
who  were  the  preservers  of  Roman  freedom,  should  n^t  tliat 
of  Warren  fill  a  lofty  niche  in  the  temple  reared  to  perpetuate 
the  remembrance  of  our  birth  as  a  nation  ? 


LESSON  XXV. 

JExtr act  from   Dr,   Joseph    Weaken' s    Oration   delivered 
March  6th,  1775. 

It  w^as  a  maxim  of  the  Roman  people,  which  eminently 
conduced  to  the  greatness  of  that  state,  never  to  derpnir  of 
the  conmio}! wealth.     The  roaxin  may  prove  as  salutary  to  u':^ 


Lesson  -25.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  (37 

now,  as  it  did  to  them.  Short  sighted  mortals,  see  not  the 
numerous  links  of  small  and  great  events,  which  form  the 
chain,  on  which  the  fate  of  kings  and  nations  is  sus|X3nded. 
Ease  and  prosperity,  have  often  sunk  a  people  into  effeminacy 
and  sloth.  Hardships  and  dangers,  have  frequently  called 
forth  such  virtues,  as  have  commanded  the  applause  and 
reverence  of  an  admiring  world.  Our  country  loudly  calls 
you  to  be  circumspect,  vigilant,  active,  and  brave. 

Perhaps,  the  power  of  Britain,  a  nation  great  in  war,  may 
by  some  malignant  influence,  be  employed  to  enslave  you. 
But  let  not  even  this  discourage  you.  Her  arms,  it  is  true, 
have  filled  the  world  with  terror  ;  her  troops  have  reaped  the 
laurels  of  the  field  ;  her  fleets  have  rode  triumphant  on  the 
sea.  And  when  or  where  did  you,  my  countrymen,  depart 
inglorious  from  the  field  of  fight  ?  You  too,  can  shew  the 
trophies  of  your  forefather's  victories,  and  your  own  ;  can 
name  the  fortresses  and  battles  you  have  won  ;  and  many 
of  you,  count  the  honourable  scars  of  wounds  received, 
whilst  fighting  for  your  king  and  country. 

Where  justice  is  the  standard,  Heaven  is  the  warriour's 
shield  ;  but  conscious  guilt  unnerves  the  arm,  that  lifts  the 
sword  against  the  innocent.  Britain,  united  with  these  cok)- 
nies,  by  commerce  and  aflection — by  interest  and  blood,  may 
mock  the  threats  of  France  and  Spain ;  may  be  the  seat  of 
universal  empire.  But  should  America,  either  by  force,  or 
those  more  dangerous  engines,  luxury  and  corruption,  ever 
be  brought  into  a  stage  of  vassalage,  Britain  must  lose  her 
freedom  also.  No  longer  shall  she  sit  the  empress  of  the 
sea  ;  her  ships  no  more  shall  waft  her  thunders  over  the 
wide  ocean  ;  the  wreath  shall  wither  on  her  temples  ; 
her  v»eakened  arm  shall  be  unable  to  defend  her  coasts  ; 
and  she  at  last  must  bow  her  venerable  head  to  some  proud 
foreigner's  despotic  rule. 

But  if  from  past  events,  we  may  venture  to  form  a  judg- 
ment of  the  future,  we  may  justly  expect  that  the  devices  of 
our  enemies  will  but  increase  the  triumphs  of  our  country. 
I  must  indulge  a  hope  that  Britain's  liberty  as  well  as  ours, 
will  eventually  be  preserved  by  the  virtue  of  America. 

The  attempt  of  the  British  parliament  to  raise  a  revenue 
from  America,  and  our  denial  of  their  right  to  do  it,  have 
excited  almost  universal  inquiry  into  the  rights  of  mankind 
in  general,  and  of  British  subjects  in  particular  ;  the  neces- 
sary result  of  which  must  be  such  a  liberality  of  sentiments, 
and  such  a  jealousy  of  those  in  power,  as  will  better  than  an 


68  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  iio. 

adamantine  wall,  secure  us  against  the  future  approaches  of 
despotism. 

The  mahce  of  the  Boston  Port  Bill,  has  been  defeated  in  a 
very  considerable  degree,  by  giving  you  an  opportunity  of 
deserving,  and  our  brethren  in  this  and  our  sister  colonies  an 
opportunity  of  bestowing  those  benefactions,  which  have  de- 
lighted your  friends  and  astonished  your  enemies,  not  only 
in  America,  but  in  Europe  also.  And  what  is  more  valuable 
still,  the  sympathetick  feelings  for  a  brother  in  distress,  and 
the  grateful  emotions  excited  in  the  breast  of  him,  who  finds 
relief,  must  forever  endear  each  to  the  other,  and  form  those 
indissoluble  bonds  of  friendship  and  affection,  on  which  the 
preservation  of  our  rights  so  evidently  depend. 

The  mutilation  of  our  charter,  has  made  every  other  colo- 
ny jealous  for  its  own,  for  this,  if  once  submitted  to  by  us, 
would  set  on  float  the  property  and  government  of  every 
British  settlement  upon  the  continent.  If  charters  are  not 
deemed  sacred,  how  miserably  precarious  is  every  thing 
founded  upon  them. 

Even  the  sending  troops  to  put  these  acts  in  execution,  is 
not  without  advantages  to  us.  The  exactness  and  beauty  of 
their  discipline,  inspire  our  youth  with  ardour  in  the  pur- 
suit of  military  knowledge.  Charles  the  Invincible,  taught 
Peter  the  Great,  the  art  of  war.  The  battle  of  Pultowa  con- 
vinced Charles  of  the  proficiency  Peter  had  made. 

Our  country  is  in  danger,  but  not  to  be  despaired  of.  Our 
enemies  are  numerous  and  powerful — but  we  have  many 
friends,  determined  to  be  free,  and  Heaven  and  earth  will 
aid  the  resolution.  On  you  depend  the  fortunes  of  America. 
You  are  to  decide  the  important  question,  on  which  rest  the 
happiness  and  liberty  of  millions  yet  unborn.  Act  worthy  of 
yourselves.  The  faltering  tongue  of  hoary  age,  calls  on  you 
to  support  your  country.  The  lisping  infant  raises  its  suppli- 
ant hands,  imploring  defence  against  the  monster  Slavery. 
Your  fathers  look  from  their  celestial  seats,  with  smiling 
approbation,  on  their  sons,  who  boldly  stand  forth  in  the 
cause  of  virtue  ;  but  sternly  frown  upon  the  inhuman  mis- 
creant, who,  to  secure  the  loaves  and  fishes  to  himself,  would 
breed  a.  serpent  to  destroy  his  children. 


Lesson  26.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  69 

LESSON  XXVL 

Speech  of  Patrick  Henry  before  the  Virginia  Conventidn  of 
Delegates,  March,   1775. 

Mr.  President, 

It  is  natural  for  man  to  indulge  in  the  Hlusions  of  hope.  We 
are  apt  to  shut  our  eyes  against  a  painful  truth — and  listen  to 
the  song  of  that  syren,  till  she  transforms  us  into  beasts.  Is  it 
the  part  of  wise  men  engaged  in  a  great  and  arduous  struggle 
for  liberty  ?  Are  we  disposed  to  be  of  the  number  of  those, 
who,  having  eyes,  see  not,  and  having  ears,  hear  not,  the 
things,  which  so  nearly  concern  tkeir  temporal  salvation  T 
For  my  part,  whatever  anguish  of  spirit  it  may  co^t,  I  am  will- 
ing to  know  the  whole  truth,  and  to  provide  for  it. 

I  have  but  one  lamp,  by  which  my  feet  are  guided  ;  and 
that  is  the  lamp  of  experience.  I  know  of  no  way  of  judging 
of  the  future,  but  by  the  past.  And  judging  by  the  past,  I 
wish  to  know,  what  there  has  been  in  the  conduct  of  the  Brit- 
ish ministry,  for  the  last  ten  years,  to  justify  those  hopes, 
with  which  gentlemen  have  been  pleased  to  solace  themselves 
and  the  house. 

Is  it  that  insidious  smile,  with  which  our  petition  has  been 
lately  received  ?  Trust  it  not,  Sir  ;  it  will  prove  a  snare  to 
your  feet.  Suffer  not  yourselves  to  be  betrayed  with  a  kiss. 
Ask  yourselves  how  this  gracious  reception  of  our  petition, 
comports  with  those  warlike  preparations,  which  cover  our 
waters  and  darken  our  land  ? 

Are  fleets  and  armies  necessary  to  a  work  of  love  and  re-* 
conciliation  ?  Have  we  shown  ourselves  so  unwilling  to  be 
reconciled,  that  force  must  be  called  in,  to  win  back  our  love  ? 
Let  us  not  deceive  ourselves.  Sir.  These  are  the  implements 
of  war  and  subjugation — the  last  arguments,  to  which  kings 
resort.  I  ask  gentlemen,  Sir,  what  means  this  martial  array, 
if  its  purpose  be  not  to  force  us  to  submission  ?  Can  gentle- 
men assign  any  other  motive  for  it  ? 

Has  Great  Britain  any  other  enemy  in  this  quarter  of  the 
world,  to  call  for  all  this  accumulation  of  navies  and  ar^iies  7 
No,  Sir  :  she  has  none.  They  are  meant  for  us  :  they  can 
be  meant  for  no  other.  They  are  sent  over  to  bind  and  rivet 
upon  us  those  chains,  which  the  British  ministers  have  been 
30  long  forging. 

And  what  have  we  to  oppose  to  them  ?  Shall  we  try  argu- 
ment ?    Sir,  we  have  been  trying  that  for  the   last  ten  year&t 


70  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  26. 

Have  we  ^ny  thing  new  to  offer  on  the  subject  T  Nothing. 
We  have  held  the  subject  up  in  every  light  of  which  it  is 
capable ;  but,  it  has  been  all  in  vain.  Shall  we  resort  to  en- 
treaty and  humble  supplication  ?  What  terms  shall  we  find, 
which  have  not  been  already  exhausted  ?  Let  us  not,  I  be- 
seech you.  Sir,  deceive  ourselves  longer. 

Sir,  we  have  done  every  thing,  that  could  be  done,  to  avert 
the  storm,  which  is  now  coming  on.  We  have  petitioned — 
we  have  remonstrated — we  have  supplicated — we  have  pros- 
trated ourselves  before  the  throne,  and  have  implored  its  in- 
terposition to  arrest  the  tyrannical  hands  of  the  ministry  and 
parliament.  Our  petitions  have  been  slighted  ;  our  remon- 
strances have  produced  additional  violence  and  insult ;  our 
supplications  have  been  disregarded ;  and  we  have  been 
spurned,  with  contempt,  from  the  foot  of  the  throne. 

In  vain,  after  these  things,  may  we  indulge  the  fond  hope 
of  peace  and  reconciliation.  There  is  no  longer  any  room 
for  hope.  If  we  wish  to  be  free — if  we  mean  to  preserve  in- 
violate those  inestimable  privileges,  for  which  we  have  been 
so  long  contending — if  we  mean  not  basely  to  abandon  the 
noble  struggle,  in  which  we  have  been  so  long  engaged,  and 
which  we  have  pledged  ourselves  never  to  abandon,  until  the 
glorious  object  of  our  contest  shall  be  obtained — we  must 
fight ! — I  repeat  it,  Sir,  we  niust  fight  I  An  appeal  to  arms, 
and  to  the  God  of  Hosts,  is  all  that  is  left  us  ! 

They  tell  us.  Sir,  that  we  are  weak — unable  to  cope  with 
so  formidable  an  adversary.  But  when  shall  we  be  stronger  ? 
Will  it  be  the  next  week,  or  the  next  year  ?  Will  it  be  when 
we  are  totally  disarmed ;  and  when  a  British  guard  shall  be 
stationed  in  every  house  1  Shall  we  gather  strength  by  irres- 
olution and  inaction  ?  Shall  we  acquire  the  means  of  effectual 
resistance,  by  lying  supinely  on  our  backs,  and  hugging  the 
delusive  phantom  of  hope,  until  our  enemies  shall  have  bound 
us  hand  and  foot  ? 

Sir,  we  are  not  weak,  if  we  make  a  proper  use  of  those 
means,  which  the  God  of  nature  hath  placed  in  our  power. 
Three  millions  of  people,  armed  in  the  holy  cause  of  liberty, 
and  in  such  a  country  as  that,  which  we  possess,  are  invinci- 
ble by  any  force,  which  our  enemy  can  send  against  us.  Be- 
sides, Sir,  we  shall  not  fight  alone.  There  is  a  just  God,  who 
presides  over  the  destinies  of  nations  ;  and  who  will  raise  up 
friends  to  fight  our  battles  for  us. 

The  battle.  Sir,  is  not  to  the  strong  alone  ;  it  is  to  the  vigi- 
lant, the  active,  the  brave..     Besides,  Sir,  we  have  no  election,. 


Lesson 'Z7,]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  71 

If  we  were  base  enough  to  desire  it,  it  is  now  too  late  to 
retire  from  the  contest.  There  is  no  retreat,  but  in  submis- 
sion and  slavery  !  Our  chains  are  forged.  Their  clanking 
may  be  heard  on  the  plains  of  Boston  !  The  war  is  inevita- 
ble— and  let  it  come  !  I  repeat  it,  Sir,  let  it  come  ! 

It  is  in  vain,  Sir,  to  extenuate  the  matter.  Gentlemen  may 
cry,  peace,  peace — but  there  is  no  peace.  The  war  is  actu- 
ally begun  !  The  next  gale,  that  sweeps  from  the  north,  will 
bring  to  our  ears  the  clash  of  resounding  arms  !  Our  brethren 
are  already  in  the  field  !  Why  stand  we  here  idle  1  What 
IS  it  that  gentlemen  wish  ?  What  would  they  have  1  Is  life 
so  dear,  or  peace  so  sweet,  as  to  be  purchased  at  the  price  of 
chains  and  slavery  ?  Forbid  it.  Heaven  ! — I  know  not  what 
course  others  may  take  ;  but  as  for  me — give  me  liberty,  or 
give  me  death. 


LESSON  XXVIL 

The  Indian  Hunter^ s  Return, — Boston  M.  Magazine*. 

The  gentle  shadows  of  an  autumn  night 
Rest  on  the  hills,  and  crown  the  wooded  height 
With  purple  wing  ;  the  evening  shrouds  the  wood, 
And  spreads  a  dimness  o'er  the  hurrying  flood  ; 
The  voice  of  waves  is  bursting  from  the  earth, 
Soothing  the  dying  year  with  tones  of  mirth  ; 
The  wide  world  laughs,  in  this  its  festal  hour, 
Pouring  glad  musick  from  each  wild-wood  bower. 

But  the  sweet  tide  of  melody  and  song, 
That  sweeps  o'er  hills  and  bending  woods,  along 
Dashes,  in  sadness,  in  this  ancient  place, 
Past  the  hoar  relick  of  a  ruined  race ; 
For  bitter  memories  of  the  silent  past. 
Wake  with  each  leaf  that  shivers  in  the  blast. 

The  foamy  torrent,  hurrying  wildly  by. 
Whirling  o'er  rocks,  and  flashing  to  the  sky  ; 
The  hoar  old  forest,  bowed  by  wintry  age ; 
These  dark  blue  hills — a  warriour's  heritage  ; 
The  deep,  wild  glen,  that  held  in  rude  embrace 
The  simple  hamlet  of  the  Indian  race  ; 


n  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  37. 

The  river,  glancing  in  the  pale  moon's  rays, 
Give  deep  remembrance  of  youth's  fiery  days. 

Years  have  rolled  on,  with  still  and  rapid  flow, 
Since  o'er  these  hills,  burst  forth  the  voice  of  wo. 

*Twas  in  the  quiet  of  a  summer's  eve, 
When  soft  waves  rippled,  with  a  gentle  heave, 
O'er  the  far  bosom  of  the  yellow  beech, 
There  rose  a  murmur  in  the  sport  of  each, 
As  the  light  breeze  its  tender  wing  would  dip, 
To  catch  the  freshness  of  the  lily's  lip  ; 
So  soft  they  whispered,  in  their  purple  tide, 
The  birchen  bark  scarce  swayed  its  painted  side. 

That  day  was  glorious  in  its  parting  hour  ; 
For  gladness  breathed  from  rustling  leaf  and  flower. 
The  sun-set  hues — a  bright  and  glittering  crowd — 
In  pomp  were  gathered,  on  the  amber  cloud. 
Yet,  with  its  glory,  and  its  splendour,  rife. 
It  was  the  darkest  of  an  old  man's  life. 

Swift !  from  the  oak  wood,  burst  a  fearful  train. 
With  glancing  arms,  and  foamy  bit  and  rein. 
Their  whirling  sabres  gave  a  deadly  glare. 
In  the  dim  shadows  of  the  evening  air. 
Beings  of  wrath  ! — of  stern  and  sullen  eye — 
Of  swarthy  cheek,  that  kindled  fearfully. 
Ah !  years  have  vanished, — still  those  eyes'  dark  gleams 
Haunt  me  at  noontide,  and  in  midnight  dreams  ! 

They  swept  the  Indian  from  his  sunny  land  ; 
They  slew  the  hunter  with  the  blood-red  hand. 
Of  all  the  race  that  roused  the  cougar  here. 
Whose  painted  siiafts  out-sped  the  wild,  red  deer ; 
Whose  sandalled  feet  were  wont  these  hills  to  press, 
Daring  the  tiger  in  liis  wilderness, — 
I  only  breathe, — a  lone,  way-faring  one  ! 
Whose  life-tide  ebbs,  and  soon  will  cease  to  run. 


Lesson  28.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  73 

LESSON  XXVIII. 

Character  of  Samml  Adams. — Tudor. 

He  combined  in  a  remarkable  manner,  all  the  animosities, 
and  all  the  firmness,  that  could  qualify  a  man  to  be  the  as- 
sertor  of  the  rights  of  the  people.  Had  he  lived  in  a  coun- 
try, or  an  epoch,  when  abuses  of  power  were  to  be  resisted,  he 
would  have  been  one  of  the  reformers.  He  would  have  suf- 
fered excom.munication,  rather  than  have  bowed  to  papal  in- 
fallibility, or  paid  the  tribute  to  St.  Peter  ;  he  would  have  gone 
to  the  stake,  rather  than  submit  to  the  prelatic  ordinances  of 
Laud ;  he  would  have  mounted  the  scaffold,  sooner  than  pay 
a  shilling  of  illegal  ship  money  ;  he  would  have  fled  to  a 
desert,  rather  than  endure  the  profligate  tyranny  of  a  Stuart. 
He  was  proscribed,  and  would  sooner  have  been  condemned 
as  a  traitor,  than  assent  to  an  illegal  tax,  if  it  had  been  only  a 
six  penny  stamp,  or  an  insignificant  duty  on  tea  ;  and  there 
appeared  to  be  no  species  of  corruption,  by  which  this  in- 
flexibility could  have  been  destroyed. 

The  motives,  by  which  he  was  actuated,  were  not  a  sudden 
ebullition  of  temper,  nor  a  transient  impulse  of  resentment,  but 
they  were  deliberate,  methodical  and  unyielding.  There  was 
no  pause,  no  hesitation,  no  despondency  ;  every  day,  and  every 
hour,  was  employed  in  some  contribution  toward  the  main 
design,  if  not  in  action,  in  writing ;  if  not  with  the  pen,  in 
conversation  ;  if  not  in  talking,  in  meditation.  The  means 
he  advised,  were  persuasion,  petition,  remonstrance,  resolu- 
tions, and  when  all  failed,  defiance  and  extermination,  sooner 
than  submission.  His  measures  for  redress,  were  all  legiti- 
mate, and  where  the  extremity  of  the  case,  as  in  the  destruc- 
tion of  the  tea,  absolutely  required  an  irregularity,  a  vigour, 
beyond  the  law,  he  was  desirous  that  it  might  be  redeemed 
by  the  discipline,  good  order,  and  scrupulous  integrity,  with 
which  it  should  be  effected. 

With  this  unrelenting  and  austere  spirit,  there  was  nothing 
ferocious,  or  gloomy,  or  arrogant  in  his  demeanour.  His  as- 
pect was  mild,  dignified  and  gentlemanly.  In  his  own  state, 
or  in  the  congress  of  the  union,  he  was  always  the  advocate 
of  the  strongest  measures,  and  in  the  darkest  hour^  he  never 
wavered  or  desponded.  He  engaged  in  the  cause  with  all 
the  zeal  of  a  reformer,  the  confidence  of  an  enthusiast,  and 
the  cheerfulness  of  a  voluntary  martyr.  It  was  not  by  brilliancy 
of  talents,  or  profoundness  of  learning,  that  he  rendered  such 
7 


/4  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  29. 

essential  service  to  the  cause  of  the  revolution,  but  by  his  res- 
olute decision,  his  unceasing  watchfulness,  and  his  heroick 
perseverance.  In  addition  to  these  qualities,  his  efforts  were 
consecrated  by  his  entire  superiority  to  pecuniary  considera- 
tions ;  he,  like  most  of  his  colleagues,  proved  the  nobleness 
of  the  cause,  by  the  virtue  of  his  conduct :  and  Samuel 
Adams,  after  being  so  many  years  in  the  publick  service,  and 
having  filled  so  many  eminent  stations,  must  have  been  buried 
at  the  publick  expense,  if  the  afflicting  death  of  an  only  son 
had  not  remedied  this  honourable  poverty. 


LESSON  XXIX. 

Dialogue  between  Major  Lincoln^  Cnptain  McPuse,  and  Mr. 
Sagf,  concerning  the  state  of  affairs,  shortly  before  the  bat- 
tle of  Lexington, — Cooper. 

Mr  Fuse.  AVhat  may  be  your  opinion  of  these  doings,  as 
you  call  them,  Mr.  Sage  ?  You,  who  are  a  man  of  observa- 
tion, should  understand  your  countrymen,  will  they  fight  ? 

^age.     A  rat  will  fight  if  the  cats  pen  him. 

McF,  But  do  the  Americans  conceive  themselves  to  be 
penned  ? 

Sage.  Why,  that  is  pretty  much  as  people  think,  captain; 
the  country  was  in  a  great  toss,  about  the  stamps  and  the 
tea  ;  but  I  always  said,  such  folks  as  didn't  give  their  notes- 
of-hand,  and  had  no  great  relish  for  any  thing  more  than 
country  food,  wouldn't  find  themselves  cramped  by  the  laws, 
after  all. 

3IcF.  Then  you  see  no  great  oppression  in  being  asked 
to  pay  your  bit  of  a  tax,  master  Sage,  to  maintain  such  a  wor- 
thy fellow  as  myself,  in  a  decent  equipage,  to  fight  your 
battles. 

Sage.  Why,  as  to  that,  captain,  I  suppose  we  can  do 
pretty  much  the  whole  of  our  fighting,  when  occasion  calls  ; 
though  I  don't  think  there  is  much  stomach  for  such  doings 
among  the  people,  without  need. 

3IcF.  But,  what  do  you  think  the  Committee  of  Safety, 
and  your  Sons  of  Liberty,  as  they  call  themselves,  really 
mean  by  their  parades  of  minute  men,  their  gathering  of  pro- 
visions, carrying  off  the  cannon,  and  such  other  formidable 
and   appalling   preparations — ha !    honest   Seth  ?     Do   they 


Lesson  30.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  "75 

think  to  frighten  British  soldiers  with  the  roll  of  a  drum,  or 
are  they  amusing  themselves,  like  boys  in  the  holy-days,  with 
playing  war  1 

Sage.  I  should  conclude  that  the  people  are  pretty  mucK 
engaged,  and  in  earnest. 

McF.  To  do  what  ?  To  forge  their  own  chains,  that  we 
may  fetter  them,  in  truth. 

Sage.  Why,  seeing  that  they  have  burnt  the  Stamps,  and 
thrown  the  tea  into  the  harbour,  and  since  that,  have  taken 
the  management  into  their  own  hands,  I  should  rather  con- 
clude that  they  have  pretty  much  determined  to  do  what 
they  think  best. 

Lincoln,  (laughing,)  You  appear  not  to  come  to  conclu- 
sions with  our  host,  captain  McFuse,  notwithstanding  so 
much  is  determined.  Is  it  well  understood,  Mr.  Sage,  that 
large  reinforcements  are  coming  to  the  colonies,  and  to  Bos- 
ton, in  particular  ? 

Sage.  Why,  yes  ;  it  seems  to  be  pretty  generally  contem- 
plated on. 

Lin.     And  what  is  the  result  of  these  contemplations  1 

Sage.  Why,  as  the  country  is  considerably  engaged  in 
the  business,  there  are  some,  who  think  if  the  ministers  don't 
open  the  Port,  that  it  will  be  done,  without  much  further 
words,  by  the  people. 

Lin.  Do  you  know,  that  such  an  attempt  would  lead 
directly  to  a  civil  war  ? 

Sage.  I  suppose  it  safe  to  calculate  that  such  doings 
would  bring  on  disturbances. 

Lin.  And  you  speak  of  it,  Sir,  as  a  thing,  not  to  be  de- 
precated, or  averted  by  every  possible  means  in  the  power  of 
the  nation. 

Sage.  If  the  Port  is  opened,  and  the  right  to  tax  given 
up,  I  can  find  a  man  in  Boston  who'll  engage  to  let  them 
draw  all  the  blood,  that  will  be  spilt,  from  his  own  veins,  for 
nothing. 


LESSON  XXX, 

Affair  of  Lexington  and  Concord. — E.  Everett. 

[A  CONSIDERABLE  quantity  of  military  stores  having  been 
deposited  at  Concord,  an  inland  town,  about  eighteen  miles 


76     •  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessm  30. 

from  Boston,  general  Gage  purposed  to  destroy  them.  For 
the  execution  of  this  design,  he,  on  the  night  preceding  the 
nineteenth  of  April,  detached  Lieutenant  Colonel  Smith  and 
Major  Pitcairn,  with  eight  hundred  grenadiers  and  Light  In- 
fantry; who,  at  eleven  o'clock,  embarked  in  boats  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  common  in  Boston,  crossed  the  river  Charles,  and, 
landing  at  Phipps'  farm  in  Cambridge,  commenced  a  silent 
end  expeditious  march  for  Concord. 

Although  several  British  officers,  who  dined  at  Cambridge 
ihe  j>recedingday,  had  taken  the  precaution  to  disperse  them- 
selves along  the  road  leading  to  Concord,  to  intercept  any 
expresses,  that  might  be  sent  from  Boston,  to  alarm  the  coun- 
try ;  yet  messengers,  who  had  been  sent  from  town  for  that 
purpose,  had  eluded  tlie  Briti^^i  patrols,  and  given  an  alarm, 
which  was  rapidly  spread  by  church  bells^  signal  guns,  and 
vollies. — Holmes.] 

The  march  of  the  British,  was  so  cautious,  that  they  re- 
mained undiscovered  till  within  a  mile  €uid  a  half  of  Lexing- 
ton njeeting  house,  and  time  was  scarce  left  for  the  last  mes- 
senger to  return  with  the  tidings  of  their  approach. 

The  new  alarm  was  now  given  ;  the  bell  rings,  alarm  guns 
are  fired,  the  drum  beats  to  arms.  Some  of  the  militia  had 
gone  home,  when  dismissed  ;  but  the  greater  part  were  in 
the  neighbouring  houses,  and  instantly  obeyed  the  summons. 
Sixty  or  seventy  appeared  on  the  green  and  were  drawn  up 
in  double  ranks.  At  this  moment  the  British  column  of  eight 
hundred  gleaming  bayonets  appears,  headed  by  their  mount- 
ed commanders,  their  banners  flying  and  drums  beating  a 
charge.  To  engage  them  with  a  handful  of  militia  of  course 
was  madness, — to  fly  at  the  sight  of  them,  they  disdained. 
The  British  troops  rush  furiously  on ;  their  commanders, 
with  mingled  threats  and  execrations,  bid  the  Americans  lay 
down  their  arms  and  disj>erse,  and   their  own  troops  to  fire. 

A  moment's  delay,  as  of  compunction,  follows.  The  order 
with  vehement  imprecations  is  repeated,  and  they  fire.  No 
one  falls,  and  the  band  of  selt-devoted  heroes,  most  of  whom 
had  never  seen  such  a  body  of  troops  before,  stand  firm  in 
the  front  of  an  army,  outnumbering  them  ten  to  one.  An- 
other volley  succeeds  ;  the  killed  and  wounded  drop,  and  it 
was  not  till  they  had  returned  the  fire  of  the  overwhelming 
force,  that  the  militia  were  driven  from  the  field.  A  scatter- 
ed fire  now  succeeded  on  both  sides  while  the  Americans  re- 
mained in  sight ;  and  the  British  troops  were  then  drawn  up 
on  the  green,  to  fire  a  volley  and  give  a  shout  in  honour  ot 
the  victory.  ^  =*  ^  * 


Lesson  3D.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  77 

On  arriving  at  Concord,  it  was  the  first  care  of  the  British 
commander  to  cut  off  the  approach  of  the  Americans  from  the 
neignbouring  towns,  by  destroying  or  occupying  the  bridges. 
A  party  was  immediately  sent  to  the  south  bridge  and  tore  it 
up.  A  force  of  six  companies,  under  Captains  Parsons  and 
liowrie,  was  sent  to  tlie  north  bridge.  Three  companies  un- 
der Captain  Lowrie  were  left  to  guard  it,  and  three  under 
Captain  Parsons  proceeded  to  Colonel  Barrett's  house,  in 
search  of  provincial  stores.  While  they  were  engaged  on  that 
errand,  the  militia  of  Concord,  joined  by  their  brave  brethren 
from  the  neighbouring  towns,  gathered  on  the  hill  opposite  the 
north  bridge,  under  the  command  of  Colonel  Robinson  and 
Major  Buttrick.  The  British  companies  at  the  bridge  were 
now  apparently  bewildered  with  the  perils  of  their  situation, 
and  began  to  tear  up  the  planks  of  the  bridge  ;  not  remember- 
ing that  this  would  expose  their  own  party,  then  at  Colonel 
Barrett's,  to  certain  and  entire  destruction. 

The  Americans,  on  the  other  hand,  resolved  to  keep  open 
the  communication  with  the  town,  and  perceiving  the  attempt, 
which  was  made  to  destroy  the  bridge,  were  immediately  put 
in  motion,  with  orders  not  to  give  the  first  fire.  They  draw 
near  to  the  bridge,  the  Acton  company  in  front,  led  on  by  the 
gallant  Davis.  Three  alarm  guns  were  fired  into  the  water, 
by  the  British,  without  arresting  the  march  of  our  citizens. 
The  signal  for  a  general  discharge  is  then  made  ; — a  British 
soldier  steps  from  the  ranks  and  fires  at  Major  Buttrick.  The 
ball  passed  between  his  arm  and  his  side,  and  slightly  wound- 
ed Mr.  Luther  Blanchard,  who  stood  near  him.  A  volley  in- 
stantly followed,  and  Captain  Davis  was  shot  through  tlije 
heart,  gallantly  marching  at  the  head  of  the  Acton  militia 
against  the  choice  troops  of  the  British  line.  A  private  of  his 
company,  Mr.  liosmer  of  Acton,  also  fell  at  his  side. 

A  general  action  now  ensued,  which  terminated  in  the  re- 
treat of  the  British  party,  after  the  loss  of  several  killed  and 
wounded,  toward  the  centre  of  the  town,  followed  by  the 
brave  band,  who  had  driven  them  from  their  post.  The  ad- 
vance party  of  British  at  Colonel  Barrett's  was  thus  left  to  its 
fate  ;  and  nothing  would  have  been  more  easy  than  to  effect 
Its  entire  destruction.  But  the  idea  of  a  declared  war  had 
yet  scarcely  forced  itself,  with  all  its  consequences,  into  the 
minds  of  our  countrymen;  and  these  advanced  companies 
were  allowed  to  return  unmolested  to  the  main  band. 

It  was  now  twelve  hours  since  the  first  alarm  had  been 
given,  the  evening  before,  of  the  meditated  expedition.     The 


78  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lcssvn  30. 

swift  watches  of  that  eventful  night  had  scattered  the  tidings 
far  and  wide  ;  and  widely  as  they  spread,  the  people  rose  in 
their  strength.  The  genius  of  America,  on  this  the  morning 
of  her  emancipation,  had  sounded  her  horn  over  the  plains 
and  upon  the  mountains  ;  and  the  indignant  yeomanry  of  the 
land,  armed  with  the  weapons  which  had  done  service  in 
their  fatliers'  hands,  poured  to  the  spot  where  this  new  and 
strange  tragedy  was  acting.  The  old  New  England  drums, 
that  had  beat  at  Louisburgh,  at  Quebec,  at  Martinique,  at 
the  Havana,  were  now  sounding  on  all  the  roads  to  Concord. 
There  were  officers  in  the  British  line,  that  knew  the  sound  ; 
they  had  heard  it,  in  the  deadly  breach,  beneath  the  black, 
decp-tliroated  engines  of  the  French  and  Spanish  castles. 

With  the  British  it  was  a  question  no  longer  of  protracted 
hostility,  nor  even  of  halting  long  enough  to  rest  their  ex- 
hausted troops,  after  a  weary  night's  march,  and  all  the  la- 
bour, confusion,  and  distress  of  the  day's  efforts.  Their 
dead  were  hastily  buried  in  the  publick  square  ;  their  wound- 
ed placed  in  the  vehicles  which  the  town  afforded  ;  and  a 
flight  connncnced,  to  which  the  annals  of  British  warfare  will 
hardly  afford  a  parallel. 

On  all  the  neighbouring  hills,  were  multitudes  from  the 
surrounding  country,  of  the  unarmed  and  infirm,  of  women 
nd  of  children,  who  had  fled  from  the  terrors  and  the  perils 
of  the  plunder  and  conflagration  of  their  homes  ;  or  were  col- 
lected, with  fearful  curiosity,  to  mark  the  progress  of  this 
storm  of  war.  The  panick  fears  of  a  calamitous  flight,  on 
the  part  of  the  British,  transformed  this  inoffensive,  timid 
throng  into  a  threatening  array  of  armed  men  ;  and  there 
was  too  much  reason  for  the  misconception.  Every  height  of 
ground,  witliin  reach  of  the  line  of  march,  was  covered  with 
the  indignant  avengers  of  their  slaughtered  brethren.  The 
British  light  companies  were  sent  out  to  great  distances  as 
flanking  parties  ;  but  who  was  to  flank  the  flankers  ?  Every 
patch  of  trees,  every  rock,  every  stream  of  water,  every  build- 
ing,-every  stone  wall,  was  lined  (I  use  the  words  of  a  British 
officer  in  the  battle),  was  lined  with  an  unintermitted  fire. 

Before  the  flying  troops  had  reached  Lexington,  their  rout 
was  entire.  An  Enghsh  historian  says,  the  British  soldiers 
were  driven  before  the  Americans  like  sheep ;  till,  by  a  last 
desperate  effort,  the  officers  succeeded  in  forcing  their  way 
to  the  front,  ''  when  they  presented  their  swords  and  bayo- 
nets against  the  breasts  of  their  own  men,  and  told  them  if 
they  advanced  they  should  die."     Upon  this,  they  began  to 


^    Ai 
■    sqi 


Lesson  30.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  79 

form,  under  what  the  same  British  officer  pronounces  **  a 
very  heavy  fire,"  which  must  soon  have  led  to  the  destruction 
or  capture  of  the  whole  corps. 

At  this  critical  moment,  it  pleased  Providence  that  a  rein- 
forcement should  arrive.  Colonel  Smith  had  sent  back  a 
messenger  from  Lexington,  to  apprize  General  Gage  of  the 
check  he  had  there  received,  and  of  the  alarm  which  was 
running  through  the  country.  Three  regiments  of  infantry, 
and  two  divisions  of  marines  with  two  fieldpieces,  under  the 
command  of  Brigadier  General  Lord  Percy,  were  accordingly 
detached.  They  marched  out  of  Boston,  through  Roxbury 
and  Cambridge,  and  came  up  with  the  flying  party,  in  the 
%our  of  their  extreme  peril.  While  their  fieldpieces  kept  the 
Americans  at  bay,  the  reinforcement  drew  up  in  a  hollow 
square,  into  which,  says  the  British  historian,  they  received 
'  le  exhausted  fugitives,  "  who  lay  down  on  the  ground,  with 

leir  tongues  hanging  from  their  mouths,  like  dogs  after  a 
chase." 

A  half  an  hour  was  given  to  rest ;  the  march  was  then 
resumed  ;  and  under  cover  of  the  fieldpieces,  every  house  in 
Lexington,  and  on  the  road  downwards,  was  plundered  and 
set  on  fire.  Though  the  flames  in  most  cases  were  speedily 
extinguished,  several  houses  were  destroyed.  Notwithstand- 
ing the  attention  of  a  great  part  of  the  Americans  was  thus 
drawn  off";  and  although  the  British  force  was  now  more 
than  doubled,  their  retreat  still  wore  the  aspect  of  a  flight. 
The  Americans  filled  the  heights  that  overhung  the  road,  and 
at  every  defile,  the  struggle  was  sharp  and  bloody.  At  West 
Cambridge,  the  gallant  Warren,  never  distant  when  danger 
was  to  be  braved,  appeared  in  the  field,  and  a  musket  ball 
soon  cut  off  a  lock  of  hair  from  his  temple.  General  Heath 
was  with  him,  nor  does  there  appear  till  this  moment,  to  have 
been  any  effective  command  among  the  American  forces. 

Below  West  Cambridge,  the  militia  from  Dorchester,  Rox- 
bury, and  Brookline  came  up.  The  British  fieldpieces  began 
to  lose  their  terrour.  A  sharp  skirmish  followed,  and  many 
fell  on  both  sides.  Indignation,  and  outraged  humanity, 
struggled  on  the  one  hand,  veteran  discipline  and  desperation 
on  the  other  ;  and  the  contest,  in  more  than  one  instance, 
was  man  to  man,  and  bayonet  to  bayonet. 

The  British  officers  had  been  compelled  to  descend  from 
their  horses  to  escape  the  certain  destruction,  which  attended 
their  exposed  situation.  The  wounded,  to  the  number  of 
two  hundred,  now  presented  the  most  distressing  and  con- 


80  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesso7i  3L 

stantly  increasing  obstruction  to  the  progress  of  the  march. 
Near  one  hundred  brave  men  had  fallen  in  this  disastrous 
flight ;  a  considerable  number  had  been  made  prisoners  ;  a 
round  or  two  of  ammunition  only  remained  ;  and,  it  was  not 
till  late  in  the  eveniniT,  nearly  twenty-four  hours  from  the 
time  when  the  first  detachment  was  put  in  motion,  that  the 
exhausted  remnant  reached  the  heights  of  Charlestown.  The 
boats  of  the  vessels  of  war  were  immediately  employed  to 
transport  the  wounded  ;  the  remaining  British  troops  in  Bos- 
ton came  over  to  Charlestown  to  protect  their  weary  country- 
men during  the  night ;  and,  before  the  close  of  the  next  day, 
the  royal  army  was  formally  besieged  in  Boston. 


LESSON   XXXL 

Reflections  on  the  affair   of  Lexington  and  Concorde — a 
E.  Everett. 

It  was  one  of  those  great  days,  one  of  those  elemental 
occasions  in  the  world's  atfairs,  when  tiie  people  rise,  and  act 
for  themselves.  Some  organization  and  preparation  had  been 
made ;  but,  from  the  nature  of  the  case,  with  scarce  any 
effect  on  the  events  of  that  day.  It  may  be  doubted,  whe- 
ther there  was  an  efficient  order  given  the  whole  day  to  any 
body  of  men,  as  large  as  a  regiment.  It  was  the  people,  in 
their  first  capacity,  as  citizens  and  as  freemen,  starting  from 
their  beds  at  midnight,  from  their  firesides,  and  from  their 
fields,  to  take  their  own  cause  into  their  own  hands. 

Such  a  spectacle  is  the  height  of  the  moral  sublime  ;  when 
the  want  of  every  thing  is  fully  made  up  by  the  spirit  of  the 
cause  ;  and  the  soul  within,  stands  in  place  of  discipline, 
organization,  resources.  In  the  prodigious  efforts  of  a  veteran 
army,  beneath  the  dazzling  splendour  of  their  array,  there  is 
something  revolting  to  the  reflective  mind.  The  ranks  are 
filled  with  the  desperate,  the  mercenary,  the  depraved  ;  an 
iron  slavery,  by  the  name  of  subordination,  merges  the  free 
will  of  one  hundred  thousand  men,  in  the  unqualified  despot- 
ism of  one  ;  the  humanity,  mercy,  and  remorse,  which  scarce 
ever  deserts  the  individual  bosom,  are  sounds  without  a 
meaning  to  that  fearful,  ravenous,  irrational  monster  of  prey, 
a  mercenary  army.  It  is  hard  to  say,  who  are  most  to  be 
commiserated,  the  wretched  people,  on  whom  it  is  let  loose, 


Lesson  31  ]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  81 

or  the  still  more  wretched  people,  whose  substance  has  been 
sucked  out,  to  nourish  it  into  strength  and  fury. 

But,  in  the  efforts  of  the  people,  of  the  people  struggling 
for  their  rights,  moving  not  in  organized,  disciplined  masses, 
but  in  their  spontaneous  action,  man  for  man,  and  heart  for 
heart, — though  I  like  not-  war  nor  any  of  its  works, — there  is 
something  glorious.  They  can  then  move  forward  without 
orders,  act  together  without  combination,  and  brave  the  flam- 
ing lines  of  battle,  without  entrenchments  to  cover,  or  walls 
to  shield  them. 

No  dissolute  camp  has  worn  off  from  tlie  feelings  of  the 

C;hful  soldier,  the  freshness  of  that  home,  where  his  mo- 
and  his  sisters  sit  waiting,  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching 
hearts,  to  hear  good  news  from  the  wars  ;  no  long  service  in 
the  ranks  of  a  conqueror,  has  turned  the  veteran's  heart  into 
marble  ;  their  valour  springs  not  from  recklessness,  from 
habit,  from  indifference  to  the  preservation  of  a  life,  knit  by 
no  pledges  to  the  life  of  others.  But  in  the  strength  and 
spirit  of  the  cause  alone  they  act,  they  contejad,  they  bleed. 
In  this,  they  conquer. 

The  people  always  conquer.  They  always  must  conquer. 
Armies  may  be  defeated  ;  kings  may  be  overthrown,  and 
new  dynasties  imposed  by  foreign  arras  on  an  ignorant  and 
slavish  race,  that  care  not  in  what  laziguage  the  covenant  of 
their  subjection  runs,  nor  in  whose  name  the  deed  of  their 
barter  and  sale  is  made  out.  But  the  people  never  invade  ; 
and,  when  they  rise  against  the  invader,  are  never  subdued. 

If  they  are  driven  from  the  plains,  they  fly  to  the  moun- 
tains. Steep  rocks,  and  everlasting  hills,  are  their  castles ; 
the  tangled,  pathless  thicket,  their  palisado;  and  nature, — 
God,  is  their  ally.  Now  he  overwhelms  the  hosts  of  their 
enemies,  beneath  his  drifting  mountains  of  sand  ;  now  he 
buries  them  beneath  a  falling  atmosphere  of  polar  snows ;  he 
lets  loose  his  tempests  on  their  fleets  ;  he  puts  a  folly  into 
their  counsels,  a  madness  into  the  hearts  of  their  leaders ; 
and  never  gave,  and  never  will  give,  a  full  and  final  triumph 
^ver  a  virtuous,  gallant  people,  resolved  to  be  free. 


82  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  32. 

LESSON  XXXIL 
A  Dialogue, — Cooper. 

(The  time  is  the  evening  after  the  battle  of  Lexington.  The  scene  is 
the  house  of  Seth  Sage  in  Boston,  which  serves  for  the  quarters  of  the 
king's  officers.  Captain  McFuse,  of  the  Royal  Grenadiers,  is  taking  a 
cold  supper  at  a  side  table,  and  occasionally  tossing  a  fragment  of  his 
meal  into  the  hat  of  the  idiot,  Job  Pray;  who  is  also  eating,  with  great 
unconcern,  while  his  friend  Sage  stands  in  one  corner  of  the  room,  a 
misoaer,  with  his  hands  tied  before  him,  having  been  captured  by  the 
British  on  their  return  from  Lexington.     Soldiers  are  in  attendance.] 

[Enter  the  British  officers^  Major  'Lincoln  and  Cap 
Polwartk.] 

Lincoln,     What  have  we  here  ?     Of  what  offence  has 
Sage  been  guilty,  that  he  bears  these  bonds  ?  _ 

M'Fuse,     Of  the  small  crimes  of  treason  and  homicide, 
shooting  at  a  man,  with  a  hearty  mind  to  kill  liim,  can  makip 
a.  murder. 

Sage,  It  can't ;  a  man  must  hill,  with  wicked  intent,  to' 
commit  murder. 

M'F.  Hear  to  the  blackguard,  detailing  the  law,  as  if  he 
were  my  Lord  Chief  Justice  of  the  King's  bench !  And  what 
was  your  intention,  ye  skulking  vagabond,  but  to  kill  me  1 
I'll  have  you  tried  and  hung  for  the  same  act. 

Sage,  It's  ag'in  reason  to  believe  that  any  jury  will  con- 
vict one  man,  for  the  murder  of  another,  that  an't  dead ; 
there's  no  jury  to  be  found  in  the  Bay-colony,  to  do  it. 

M'F,  Bay-colony  \  ye  murdering  thief  and  rebel  !  I'll 
have  ye  transported  to  England  ;  ye  shall  both  be  transi)orted 
and  hung.  I'll  carry  ye  back  to  Ireland  with  me,  and  I'll 
hang  ye  up  in  the  green  Island  itself,  and  bury  ye,  in  the  heart 
of  winter,  in  a  bog. 

Lin.  But  what  is  the  offence,  that  calls  forth  these  severe 
threats  ? 

M^F,     The  scoundrel  has  been  out ! 

Lin,     Out  ? 

M'F,  Ay,  out,  sir.  Has  not  the  whole  country  been  like 
so  many  bees  in  search  of  a  hive  ?  Is  your  memory  so  short 
that  ye  forget,  already.  Major  Lincoln,  the  tramp,  the  black- 
guards have  given  you  over  hill  and  dale,  through  thick  and 
thin  ? 

Lin,  And^as  Mr.  Sage,  then,  found  among  our  enemies 
today  1 


Lesson  3-2.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  ^ 

M'F,  Didn't  I  see  him  pull  trigger  on  my  own  stature, 
three  times,  within  as  many  minutes  ]  And  didn't  he  break 
the  handle  of  my  sword  ?  And  havn't  I  a  bit  of  lead,  he 
calls  a  buckshot,  in  my  shoulder  as  a  present  from  the  thief? 
Job,  It's  ag'in  all  law  to  call  a  man  a  thief  unless  you  can 
prove  it  upon  him ;  but  it  an't  ag'in  law,  to  go  in  and  out  of 
Boston  as  often  as  you  choose. 

M\F.  Do  you  hear  the  rascals  ?  They  know  every  angle 
of  the  law  as  well,  or  better,  than  I  do  myself,  who  am  the 
son  of  a  Cork  Counsellor.  I  dare  say,  you  were  among  them 
too,  and  that  ye  deserve  the  gallows  as  well  as  your  commend- 
^  companion,  there. 

.  How  is  this  1  Did  you  not  only  mingle  in  this  rebel- 
Ir.  Sage,  but  also  attempt  the  life  of  a  gentleman,  who 
be  said,  almost,  to  be  an  inmate  of  your  own  house  ? 
3*6.  I  conclude,  it's  best  not  to  talk  too  much,  seeing 
Eio  one  can  foretell  what  may  happen. 
M-F,  Hear  to  the  cunning  reprobate  !  He  has  not  .the 
orrace  to  acknowledge  his  own  sins,  like  an  honest  man.  But 
I  can  save  him  that  small  trouble — I  got  tired,  you  must  know, 
Major  Lincoln,  of  being  shot  at,  like  noxious  vermin,  from 
morning  till  night,  without  making  some  return  to  the  com- 
*pliments  of  those  gentlemen,  who  are  out  on  the  hills ;  and  I 
took  advantage  of  a  turn,  ye  see,  to  double  on  a  party  of  the 
uncivilized  demons  ;  this  lad,  here,  got  three  good  pulls  at  me, 
before  we  closed  and  made  an  end  of  them  with  the  steel,  all 
but  this  fellow,  who  having  a  becoming  look  for  a  gallows, 
I  brought  him  in,  as  you  see,  for  an  exchange,  intending  to 
hang  him  the  first  favourable  opportunity. 

Lin,  If  this  be  true,  we  must  give  him  into  the  hands  of 
the  proper  authorities,  for  it  remains  to  be  seen  yet,  what 
course  will  be  adopted  with  the  prisoners  in  this  singular  con- 
test. 

3FF.  I  should  think  nothing  of  the  matter,  if  the  repro- 
bate had  not  treated  me  like  a  beast  of  the  field,  with  his  buck- 
shot, and  taking  his  aim  each  time,  as  though  I  bad  been  a 
mad  dog.  Ye  villain,  do  you  call  yourself  a  man,  and  aim  at 
a  iellow-creature  as  you  would  at  a  brute  ? 

Sage,  Why,  when  a  man  has  pretty  much  made  up  his 
mind  to  fight,  I  conclude  it's  best  to  take  aim,  in  order  to  save 
ammunition  and  time. 

Lin,     You  acknowledge  the  charge,  then  ? 
Sage.     As  the  Major  is  a  moderate  man,  and  will  hear  to 
reason,  I  will  talk  the  matter  over  with  him  rationally.  .  You 
see  I  had  a  small  call  to  Con'curd  early  this  morning — 


84  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  32. 

Lin.    CoDcord ! 

Sage^  Yes,  Con' curd.  It  lies  here-away,  say  twenty,  or 
one-andrtwenty  miles —  (pointing) 

FovwaHiu  Hang  your  Concords  and  your  miles  too  !  Ir 
there  a  man  ia  tJie  army,  who  can  forget  the  deceitful  place  ? 
Go  ou,  with  your  defence,  without  talking  to  us  of  the  distance, 
who  have  measured  the  road  by  inches. 

Sage,  The  Captain  is  hasty  and  rash  !  But  being  there, 
I  went  out  of  the  town,  with  some  company  that  I  happened 

in  with ;  and  alter  a  time  we  concluded  to  return and  so, 

as  we  came  to  a  bridge,  about  a  mile  beyond  the  place,  we 
received  pretty  considerable  roufrh   treatment  from.  som( 
the  king^s  troops,  who  were  standing  there. 

Lan,     What  did  they  ? 

Soge^     They  lired  at  us,  and  killed  two  of  our  compi 
besides  other  threatening  doings.     There  were  some  ai 
us,  that  took  the  matter  up  in  considerable  earnest,  and 
was  a  sharp  toss  about,  for  a  few  minutes  ;  though  final! 
law  prevailed. 

Liiu     The  law  ? 

Sage,     Certain — u^  ug Hi  all  law,  I  believe  the  Major  wl 
own,  to  shoot  peaceable  men  on  the  publick  highway  ! 

Lin,     Proceed  with  your  tale,  your  own  way. 

Sage,  That  is  pretty  much  the  whole  of  it.  The  people 
rather  took  that,  and  some  other  things,  that  happened  at 
Lexington,  to  heart,  and  I  suppose  the  Major  knows  the  rest. 

McF.  But  what  has  all  this  to  do  with  your  attempt  to 
murder  me,  you  hypocrite  ?  Confess  the  whole,  ye  thief ! 
that  I  may  hang  you  with  an  aisy  conscience. 

Lin,  Enough.  The  man  has  acknowledged  sufficient 
already,  to  justify  us  in  transferring  him  to  the  custody  of 
others.  Let  him  be  taken  to  the  main-guard,  and  delivered 
as  a  prisoner  of  tliis  day. 

Sage,  I  hope  the  Major  will  look  to  the  things.  I  shall 
hold  him  accountable  for  all. 

Lin.  Your  property  shall  be  protected,  and  I  hope  your 
life  may  not  be  in  jeopardy. 

(Exit  Sage,  conducted  hy  guards.) 

Job.  The  king  can't  hang  Seth  Sage  for  firing  back, 
when  the  rascally  soldiers  began  first. 

3IcF.  Perhaps  you  were  out  too,  master  Solomon,  amus- 
ing yourself  at  Concord,  with  a  small  party  of  select  friends  ! 

Job.  Job  didn't  go  any  further  than  Lexington,  and  he 
hasn't  got  any  friends  except  old  Nab. 


Lesson  32]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  ,^85 

McF.  The  demon  has  possessed  the  minds  of  the  people  1 
Lawyers  and  doctors,  priests  and  sinners,  old  and  young,  big 
and  little,  beset  us  in  our  march,  and  here  is  a  fool,  to  be 
added  among  the  number  !  I  dare  say  that  fellow,  now,  has 
attempted  murder  in  his  day  too. 

Job.  Job  scorns  such  wickedness  !  He  only  shot  one 
granny,  and  hit  an  officer  in  the  arm. 

3IcF.  (jumping  fi^om  Ms  seat,)  D'ye  hear  that,  Major 
Lincoln  !  D'ye  hear  that  shell  of  a  man,  that  effigy,  boasting 
of  haying  killed  a  grenadier  ! 

Lin,     (catching  McFuse  hy  the  arm,)     Hold  !  remember, 

Ie  are  soldiers,  and  that  the  boy  is  not  a  responsible  being. 
■  tribunal  would  ever  sentence  such  an  unfortunate  crea- 
&  to  a  gibbet ;  and,  in  general,  he  is  as  harmless  as  a 
^IcF.  Out  upon  such  babes  !  A  pretty  fellovv  is  he  to 
■  a  man  of  six  feet !  and  with  a  ducking  gun,  I'll  engage, 
■not  hang  the  rascal.  Major  Lincoln,  since  it  is  your  par- 
Blar  wish — I'll  only  have  him  buried  alive. 
f  (Exit  McFuse,  Polwarth,  and  attendants,) 

Lin,  Foolish  boy  !  did  I  not  warn  you,  that  wicked  men 
might  endanger  your  life  ?  How  was  it  that  I  saw  you  in 
arms  today  against  the  troops  ? 

Job,  How  came  the  troops  in  arms  ag'in  Job  ?  They 
needn't  think  to  wheel  about  the  Bay-Province,  clashing 
their  drums  and  trumpets,  burning  housefi,  and  shooting 
people,  and  find  no  stir  about  it. 

Lin.  Do  you  know  that  your  life  has  been  twice  forfeited 
within  twelve  hours,  by  your  own  confession  ;  once  for  mur- 
der, and  again  for  treason  against  your  king  ?  You  have  ac- 
linowledged  killing  a  man  ! 

Job.  Yes,  Job  shot  the  granny ;  but  he  didn't  let  the 
people  kill  Major  Lincoln. 

Lin.  True,  true — I  owe  my  life  to  you,  and  that  debt  shall 
be  cancelled  at  every  hazard.  But  why  have  you  put  your- 
self in  the  hands  of  your  enemies  so  thoughtlessly  ?  What 
brings  you  here  to-night  ? 

Job.     Ralph  told  me  to  come  ;  and  if  Ralph  told  Job  to  go 
into  the  king's  parlour,  he  would  go. 
Lin.     Ralph  !     Where  is  he  ? 

Job.  In  the  old  warehouse,  and  he  has  sent  me  to  tell  yon 
to  come  to  him — and  what  Ralph  says,  must  be  done. 

Lin.     He  here  too  !    Is  the  man  crazed  ?     Would  not  his 

fears  teach  him 

8 


86  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  3a 

Job.     Fears  !    You  can't  frighten  Ralph !     The  grannies 
ouldn't  frighten  him,  nor  the  light-infantry  couldn't  hit  him, 
hough  he  eat  nothing  but  their  smoke  all  day  !     Ralph  is  a 
proper  warriour  ! 

Lin.     And  he  waits  me,  you  say,  in  the  tenement  of  your 
mother  ? 

Job.     Job  don't  know  what  tenement  means,  but  he's  in 
he  old  warehouse. 

Lin.     Come,  then,  let  us  go  to  him.     I  must  save  him  from 
fhe  effects  of  his  own  rashness,  though  it  cost  my  commission ! 

[Exeunt. 


LESSON  XXXIIL 

The  Gladiator. — Jones. 

They  led  a  lion  from  his  den, 

The  lord  of  Afric's  sun-scorched  plain  ; 

And  there  he  stood,  stern  foe  of  men, 

And  shook  his  flowing  mane. 

There's  not  of  all  Rome's  heroes,  ten 

That  dare  abide  this  game. 

His  bright  eye  nought  of  lightning  lacked : 

His  voice  was  like  the  cataract. 

They  brought  a  dark-haired  man  along, 
Whose  limbs  with  gyves  of  brass  were  bound  ; 
Youthful  he  seemed,  and  bold,  and  strong, 
And  yet  unscathed  of  wound. 
Blithely  he  stepped  among  the  throng, 
And  careless  threw  around 
A  dark  eye,  such  as  courts  the  path 
Of  him,  who  braves  a  Dacian's  wrath. 

Then  shouted  the  plebeian  crowd — 
Rung  the  glad  galleries  with  the  sound ; 
And  from  the  throne  there  spake  aloud 
A  voice,  '*  Be  the  bold  man  unbound  ! 
And,  by  Rome's  sceptre,  yet  unbowed, 
By  Rome,  earth's  monarch  crowned, 
Who  dares  the  bold— the  unequal  strife, 
Though  doomed  to  death,  shall  save  his  life.' 


Lesson  33.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  87 

Joy  was  upon  that  dark  man's  face, 

And  thus,  with  laughing  eye,  spake  he — 

*'  Loose  ye  the  lord  of  Zaara's  waste, 

And  let  my  arms  be  free  ; 

*  He  has  a  martial  heart,'  thou  sayest, 

But  oh,  who  will  not  be 

A  hero,  when  he  fights  for  life. 

And  home,  and  country, — babes,  and  wife. 

And  thus  I  for  the  strife  prepare  ; 
The  Thracian  falchion  to  me  bring ; 
But  ask  th'  imperial  leave  to  spare 
The  shield — a  useless  thing. 
Were  I  a  Samnite's  rage  to  dare, 
Then  o'er  me  should  I  fling 
The  broad  orb ;  but  to  lion's  wrath 
The  shield  were  but  a  sword  of  lath.'* 

And  he  has  bared  his  shining  blade, 
And  springs  he  on  the  shaggy  foe  ; 
Dreadful  the  strife,  but  briefly  played — 
The  desert-king  lies  low. 
His  long  and  loud  death-howl  is  made. 
And  there  must  end  the  show. 
And  when  the  multitude  were  calm, 
The  favourite  freedman  took  the  palm. 

*'  Kneel  down,  Rome's  emperour  beside  :'" 

He  knelt,  that  dark  man  ; — o'er  his  brow 

Was  thrown  a  wreath  in  crimson  died, 

And  fair  words  gild  it  now  : 

''  Thou'rt  the  bravest  youth  that  ever  tried 

To  lay  a  lion  low ; 

And  from  our  presence  forth  thou  go'st 

To  lead  the  Dacians  of  our  host." 

Then  flushed  his  cheek,  but  not  with  pride, 
And  grieved  and  gloomily  spoke  he  : 
**  My  cabin  stands  where  blithely  glide 
Proud  Danube's  waters  to  the  sea ; 
I  have  a  young  and  blooming  bride, 
And  I  have  children  three  ; 
No  Roman  wealth  nor  rank  can  give 
Such  joy,  as  in  their  arms  to  live. 


88  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  34. 

My  wife  sits  at  the  cabin  door, 

With  throbbing  heart  and  swollen  eyes  ; 

While  tears  her  cheek  are  coursing  o'er. 

She  speaks  of  sundered  ties. 

She  bids  my  tender  babes  deplore 

The  death  their  father  dies  ; 

She  tells  these  jewels  of  my  home, 

I  bleed  to  please  the  rout  of  Rome. 

I  cannot  let  those  cherubs  stray 
Without  their  sire's  protecting  care  ; 
And  I  would  chase  the  griefs  away 
Which  cloud  my  wedded  fair." 
The  monarch  spoke-,  the  guards  obey. 
And  gates  unclosed  are  ; 
He  is  gone — no  golden  bribes  divide 
The  Dacian  from  his  babes  and  bride. 


LESSON  XXXIV. 

Paternal  Affection. — Bancroft. 

How  mildly  beams  a  father's  face  ! 
How  true  and  tender  his  embrace  ! 
Heaven  blends  the  hearts  of  sire  and  son  ; 
Their  kindred  souls  are  joined  in  one  ; 
No  stay  is  like  a  father's  arm  ; 
No  eye  so  quick  to  guard  from  harm ; 
And  more  the  heart  his  counsels  move, 
Than  pleasure's  voice,  or  woman's  love. 

Hath  fickle  passion  wronged  thy  youth  ? 
Cling  to  his  side,  whose  love  is  truth  ; 
Have  friends  thy  innocence  beguiled  ? 
Guileless  a  father  guides  his  child ; 
Or  hast  thou  vainly  wandered  far, 
To  search  for  truth's  directing  star  ? 
Return  and  claim  thy  sire's  embrace.; 
His  bosom  be  thy  resting-place. 


Or  hast  thou  aim'd  to  soar  in  skies, 
W^here  mightier  spirits  fearless  rise. 


Lesson  35.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  89 

And  feeble,  as  the  bird  that  springs 

Toward  heaven,  ere  time  hath  nerved  his  wings^ 

With  flagging  plumes  too  soon  returnest, 

All  drooping  to  the  ground  thou  spurnest  ? 

Fly  to  thy  father's  tranquil  breast, 

Thou  weary  bird,  make  there  thy  nest. 

Alas,  for  orphan  hearts,  that  mourn 
The  dearest  ties  of  nature  torn  ; 
They  gaze  not  on  a  father's  eye  ; 
No  more  upon  his  bosom  lie ; 
For  them  life's  surest  friend  is  gone ; 
In  grief,  in  hope  their  hearts  are  lone  ; 
And  e'en  should  love  still  light  its  fires, 
What  earthly  love  is  like  a  sire's  ? 


LESSON  XXXV. 

Advice  to  a  Young  Tradesman, — Franklin, 

As  you  have  desired  it  of  me,  I  write  the  following  hintg, 
which  have  been  of  service  to  me,  and  may,  if  observed,  be 
so  to  you. 

Remember,  that  time  is  money.  He  that  can  earn  ten 
shillings  a  day  by  his  labour,  and  goes  abroad,  or  sits  idle, 
one  half  of  that  day,  though  he  spends  but  sixpence  during 
his  diversion,  or  idleness,  ought  not  to  reckon  that  the  only 
expense  ;  he  has  really  spent,  or  rather  thrown  away,  five 
shillings  besides. 

Remember,  that  credit  is  money.  If  a  man  lets  his  money 
lie  in  my  hands  after  it  is  due,  he  gives  me  the  interest,  or 
so  much  as  I  can  make  of  it,  during  that  time.  This  amounts 
to  a  considerable  sum,  where  a  man  has  good  and  large  cre- 
dit, and  makes  good  use  of  it. 

Remember,  that  money  is  of  a  prolifick,  generating  nature. 
Money  can  beget  money,  and  its  offspring  can  beget  more, 
and  so  on.  Five  shillings  turned  is  six,  turned  again  it  is 
seven  and  threepence,  and  so  on,  till  it  becomes  an  hun- 
dred pounds.  The  more  there  is  of  it,  the  more  it  produces, 
every  turning,  so  that  the  profits  rise  quicker  and  quicker. 
He  that  wastes  a  crown,  destroys  all  that  it  might  have  pro- 
duced, even  scores  of  pound^. 
8* 


96  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  35. 

Remember,  that  six  pounds  a  year  is  but  a  groat  a  day. 
For  this  little  sum,  a  man  of  credit  may,  on  his  own  security, 
have  the  Constant  possession  and  use  of  an  hundred  pounds. 
So  much  in  stock,  briskly  turned  by  an  industrious  man,  pro- 
duces great  advantage. 

Remember  this  saying,  ''the  good  paymaster  is  lord  of 
another  man's  purse."  He  that  is  known  to  pay  punctually, 
and  exactly  at  the  time  he  promises,  may  at  any  time,  and  on 
any  occasion,  raise  all  the  money  his  friends  can  spare. 
This  is  sometimes  of  great  use.  After  industry  and  frugality, 
nothing  contributes  more  to  the  raising  of  a  young  man  in 
the  world,  than  punctuality,  and  justice,  in  all  his  dealings  ; 
therefore,  never  keep  borrowed  money  an  hour  beyond  tlw 
time  you  promised,  lest  a  disappointment  shut  up  y| 
friend's  purse  forever. 

The  most  trifling  actions,  that  affect  a  man's  credit, 
to  be  regarded.     The  sound  of  your  hammer  at  five  in 
jnorning,  or  nine  at  night,  heard  by  a  creditor,  makes 
rasy  six  months  longer  ;  but  if  he  sees  you  at  a  billiard  tal 
or  hears  your  voice  at  a  tavern,  when  you  should  be  at  woi 
lie  sends  for  his  money  the  next  day  ;  demands  it,  before  he 
can  receive  it  in  a  lump. 

It  shows,  besides,  that  you  are  mindful  of  what  you  owe  ; 
it  makes  you  appear  a  careful  as  well  as  an  honest  man,  and 
that  still  increases  your  credit. 

Beware  of  thinking  all  your  own  that  you  possess,  and  of 
living  accordingly.  It  is  a  mistake  that  many  poor  people, 
who  have  credit,  fall  into.  To  prevent  this,  keep  an  exact 
account  for  some  time,  both  of  your  expenses  and  your  in- 
come. If  you  take  the  pains  at  first  to  mention  particulars, 
it  will  have  this  good  effect ;  you  will  discover  how  wonder- 
fully small  trifling  expenses  amount  up  to  large  sums,  and 
will  discern  what  might  have  been,  and  may  for  the  future  be 
saved,  without  occasioning  any  great  inconvenience. 

In  short,  the  way  to  wealth,  if  you  desire  it,  is  as  plain  as 
the  way  to  market.  It  depends  chiefly  on  two  words,  indus- 
try and  frugality  ;  that  is,  waste  neither  time  nor  money,  but 
make  the  best  use  of  both.  Without  industry  and  frugality, 
nothing  will  do,  and  with  them,  every  thing.  He  that  gets 
all  he  can  honestly,  and  saves  all  he  gets,  will  certainly  be- 
come rich — if  that  Being,  who  governs  the  world,  to  whom 
all  should  look  for  a  blessing  on  their  honest  endeavours,  doth 
not,  in  his  wise  providence,  otherwise  determine. 


Lesson  36.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  91 

LESSON  XXXVI. 

Battle  of  Bunker  Hill,  June  llth,  1775. — N.  A.  Review. 

The  incidents  and  result  of  the  battle  itself  were  most  im- 
portant, and  indeed  most  wonderful.  As  a  mere  battle,  few 
surpass  it  in  whatever  engages  and  interests  the  attention. 
It  was  fought,  on  a  conspicuous  eminence,  in  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  a  populous  city ;  and,  consequently,  in  the 
view  of  thousands  of  spectators.  The  attacking  army  moved 
over  a  sheet  of  water  to  the  assault.  The  operations  and 
movements  were,  of  course,  all  visible  and  all  distinct. 

Those  who  looked  on  from  the  houses  and  heights  of  Bos- 
ton, had  a  fuller  view  of  every  important  operation  and  event, 
than  can  ordinarily  be  had  of  any  battle,  or  than  can  possi- 
bly be  had  of  such  as  are  fought  on  a  more  extended  ground, 
or  by  detachments  of  troops  acting  in  different  places,  and  at 
different  times,  and  in  some  measure  independently  of  each 
other.  When  the  British  columns  were  advancing  to  the 
attack,  the  flames  of  Charlestown,  (fired,  as  is  generally  sup- 
posed, by  a  shell,)  began  to  ascend.  The  spectators,  far  out- 
numbering both  armies,  thronged  and  crowded  on  every 
height  and  every  point,  which  afforded  a  view  of  the  scene, 
themselves  constituted  a  very  important  part  of  it. 

The  troops  of  the  two  armies,  seemed  like  so  many  com- 
batants in  an  amphitheatre.  The  manner  in  which  they 
should  acquit  themselves,  was  to  be  judged  of,  not  as  in  other 
cases  of  military  engagements,  by  reports  and  future  history, 
but  by  a  vast  and  anxious  assembly  already  on  the  spot,  and 
waiting  with  unspeakable  concern  and  emotion  the  progress 
of  the  day. 

In  other  battles,  the  recollection  of  wives  and  children,  has 
been  used  as  an  excitement  to  animate  the  warriour's  breast, 
and  nerve  his  arm.  Here  was  not  a  mere  recollection,  but 
an  actual  presence  of  them,  and  other  dear  connexions,  hang- 
ing on  the  skirts  of  the  battle,  anxious  and  agitated,  feeling 
almost  as  if  wounded  themselves  by  every  blow  of  the  enemy, 
and  putting  forth,  as  it  were,  their  own  strength,  and  all  the 
energy  of  their  own  throbbing  bosoms,  into  every  gallant 
effort  of  their  warring  friends. 

But  there  whs  a  more  comprehensive  and  vastly  more  im- 
portant view  of  that  day's  contest,  than  has  been  mentioned, 
a  view,  indeed,  which  ordinary  eyes,  bent  intently  on  what 
was  immediately  before  them,  did  not  embrace,  but  which 


92  CLASS  BOOK  OP  [Lesson  36. 

was  perceived  in  its  full  extent  and  expansion  by  minds  of  a 
higher  order.  Those  men  who  were  at  the  head  of  the  colo- 
nial councils,  who  had  been  engaged  for  years  in  the  previous 
stages  of  the  quarrel  with  England,  and  who  had  been  accus- 
tomed to  look  forward  to  the  future,  were  well  apprized  of 
the  magnitude  of  the  events  likely  to  hang  on  the  business 
of  that  day. 

They  saw  in  it,  not  only  a  battle,  but  the  beginning  of  a 
civil  war,  of  unmeasured  extent,  and  uncertain  issue.  AH 
America,  and  all  England,  were  likely  to  be  deeply  concern- 
ed in  the  consequences.  The  individuals,  themselves,  who 
knew  full  well  what  agency  they  had  had,  in  bringing  affairs 
to  this  crisis,  had  need  of  all  their  courage  ; — not  that  disre- 
gard of  personal  safety,  in  which  the  vulgar  suppose  tru^ 
courage  to  consist,  but  that  high  and  fixed  moral  sentimeif 
that  steady  and  decided  purpose,  which  enables  men  to  pur^ 
sue  a  distant  end,  with  a  full  view  of  the  difficulties  and  dan- 
gers before  them,  and  with  a  conviction,  that,  before  they 
arrive  at  the  proposed  end,  should  they  ever  reach  it,  th|^ 
must  pass  through  evil  report  as  well  as  good  report,  and 
liable  to  obloquy,  as  well  as  to  defeat. 

Spirhs,  that  fear  nothing  else,  fear  disgrace  ;  and  this  dan- 
ger is  necessarily  encountered  by  those  who  engage  in  civil 
war.  Unsuccessful  resistance  is  not  only  ruin  to  its  authors, 
but  is  esteemed,  and  necessarily  so,  by  the  laws  of  all  coun- 
tries, treasonable.  This  is  the  case,  at  least  till  resistance 
becomes  so  general  and  formidable,  as  to  assume  the  form 
of  regular  war.  But,  who  can  tell,  when  resistance  com- 
mences, whether  it  will  attain  even  to  that  degree  of  success  ? 
Some  of  those  persons  who  signed  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence in  1776,  described  themselves  as  signing  it,  '*  as 
with  halters  about  their  necks."  If  there  were  grounds  for 
this  remark  in  1776,  when  the  cause  had  become  so  much 
more  general,  how  much  greater  was  the  hazard,  when  the 
battle  of  Bunker  Hill  was  fought  ? 

These  considerations  constituted,  to  enlarged  and  liberal 
minds,  the  moral  sublimity  of  the  occasion  ;  while,  to  the 
outward  senses  the  movement  of  armies,  the  roar  of  artillery, 
the  brilliancy  of  the  reflection  of  a  summer's  sun,  from  the 
burnished  armour  of  the  British  columns,  and  the  flames  of  a 
burning  town,  made  up  a  scene  of  extraordinary  grandeur. 


sre- 
'an-  ^ 


Lesson  37.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  93 

LESSON  XXXVil. 

Mr,  Wehster^s  Address  to  the  Survivers  of  the  Battle  of 
Bunker  Hill,  delivered  on  the  50th  anniisersary  of  that 
event. 

Venerable  men  !  you  have  come  dowi>  to  us,  from  a 
former  generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out 
your  lives,  that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.  You  are 
novtr,  where  you  stood,  fifty  years  ago,  this  very  hour,  with 
your  brothers,  and  your  neighbours,  shoulder  to  shoulder,  in 
the  strife  for  your  country.  Behold,  how  altered  !  The  same 
heavens  are  indeed  over  your  heads  ;  the  same  ocean  rolls  at 
j%ur  feet ;  but  all  else,  how  changed  ! 

You  hear  now  no  roar  of  hostile  cannon,  you  see  no  mixed 
volumes  of  smoke  and  flame  rising  from  burning  Charlestown. 
The  ground  strewed  with  the  dead  and  the  dying ;  the  im- 
petuous charge  ;  the  steady  and  successful  repulse ;  the  loud 
call  to  repeated  assault ;  the  summoning  of  all  that  is  manly 
to  repeated  resistance ;  a  thousand  bosoms  freely  and  fear- 
lessly bared  in  an  instant  to  whatever  of  terrour  there  may  be 
in  war  and  death ; — all  these  you  have  witnessed,  but  you 
witness  them  no  more. 

All  is  peace.  The  heights  of  yonder  metropolis,  its  towers 
and  roofs,  which  you  then  saw  filled  with  wives  and  children 
and  countrymen  in  distress  and  terrour,  and  looking  with  un- 
utterable emotions  for  the  issue  of  the  combat,  have  presented 
you  today  with  the  sight  of  its  whole  happy  population,  come 
out  to  welcome  and  greet  you  with  an  universal  jubilee. 
Yonder  proud  ships,  by  a  felicity  of  position  appropriately 
lying  at  the  foot  of  this  mount,  and  seeming  fondly  to  cling 
around  it,  are  not  means  of  annoyance  to  you,  but  your  coun- 
try's own  means  of  distinction  and  defence. 

All  is  peace ;  and  God  has  granted  you  this  sight  of  your 
country's  happiness,  ere  you  slumber  in  the  grave  forever. 
He  has  allowed  you  to  behold  and  to  partake  the  reward  of 
your  patriotick  toils ;  and  he  has  allowed  us,  your  sons  and 
countrymen,  to  meet  you  here,  and  in  the  name  of  the  pres- 
ent generation,  in  the  name  of  your  country,  in  the  name  of 
liberty,  to  thank  you  ! 

But,  alas  !  you  are  not  all  here  !  Time  and  the  sword 
have  thinned  your  ranks.  Prescott,  Putnam,  Stark,  Brooks, 
Read,  Pomeroy,  Bridge  !  our  eyes  seek  for  you  in  vain  amidst 
this  broken  band.     You  are  gathered  to  your  fathers,  and  live 


94  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  S7. 

only  to  your  country  in  her  grateful  remembrance,  and  your 
own  bright  example.  But  let  us  not  too  much  grieve,  that 
you  have  met  the  common  fate  of  men.  You  lived,  at 
least,  long  enough  to  know  that  your  work  had  been  nobly 
and  successfully  accomplished.  You  lived  to  see  your  coun- 
try's independence  established,  and  to  sheathe  your  swords 
from  war.  On  the  light  of  Liberty  you  saw  arise  the  light  of 
Peace,  like 

'  another  morn, 
Risen  on  mid-noon  ;' — 

and  the  sky,  on  which  you  closed  your  eyes,  was  cloudless. 

But — ah  ! — Him  !  the  first  great  Martyr  in  this  great  cause  ! 
Him  !  the  premature  victim  of  his  own  self-devoting  hearth 
Him  !  the  head  of  our  civil  councils,  and  the  destined  leader 
of  our  military  bands ;  whom  nothing  brought  hither,  but 
the  unquenchable  fire  of  his  own  spirit;  Him!  cutoff  by 
Providence,  in  the  hour  of  overwhelming  anxiety  and  thick 
gloom  ;  falling,  ere  he  saw  the  star  of  his  country  rise  ;  pour- 
ing out  his  generous  blood,  like  water,  before  he  knew  wheth- 
er it  would  fertilize  a  land  of  freedom  or  of  bondage !  how 
shall  I  struggle  with  the  emotions,  that  stifle  the  utterance  of 
thy  name !  Our  poor  work  may  j>erish ;  but  thine  shall 
endure !  This  monument  may  moulder  away ;  the  solid 
ground  it  rests  upon  may  sink  down  to  a  level  with  the  sea  ; 
but  thy  memory  shall  not  fail !  Wheresoever  among  men  a 
heart  shall  be  found,  that  beats  to  the  transjwrts  of  patriotism 
and  liberty,  its  aspirations  shall  be  to  claim  kindred  with  thy 
spirit  ! 

But  the  scene,  amidst  which  we  stand,  does  not  permit  us 
to  confine  our  thoughts  or  our  sympathies  to  those  fearless 
spirits,  who  hazarded  or  lost  their  lives  on  this  consecrated 
spot.  We  have  the  happiness  to  rejoice  here  in  the  presence 
of  a  most  worthy  representation  of  the  survivers  of  the  whole 
Revolutionary  Army. 

Veterans  !  you  are  the  remnant  of  many  a  well  fought 
field.  You  bring  with  you  marks  of  honour  from  Trenton 
and  Monmouth,  from  Yorktown,  Camden,  Bennington, 
and  Saratoga.  Veterans  of  half  a  century  !  when  in 
your  youthful  days,  you  put  every  thing  at  hazard  in  your 
country's  cause,  good  as  that  cause  was,  and  sanguine  as 
youth  is,  still  your  fondest  hopes  did  not  stretch  onward  to  an 
hour  like  this  !  At  a  period,  to  which  you  could  not  reason- 
ably have  expected  to  arrive ;  at  a  moment  of  national  prati- 


Lesson  38.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  95 

perity,  such  as  you  could  never  have  foreseen,  you  are  now 
met,  here,  to  enjoy  the  fellowship  of  old  soldiers,  and  to  re- 
ceive the  overflov^^ings  of  an  universal  gratitude. 

But  your  agitated  countenances  and  your  heaving  breasts 
inform  me  that  even  this  is  not  an  unmixed  joy.  I  perceive 
that  a  tumult  of  contending  feelings  rushes  upon  you.  The 
images  of  the  dead,  as  well  as  the  persons  of  the  living,  throng 
to  your  embraces.  The  scene  overwhelms  you,  and  I  turn 
from  it.  May  the  Father  of  all  mercies  smile  upon  your 
declining  years,  and  bless  them  !  And  when  you  shall  here 
have  exchanged  your  embraces ;  when  you  shall  once  more 
have  pressed  the  hands,  which  have  been  so  often  extended  to 
give  succour  in  adversity,  or  grasped  in  the  exultation  of 
i^ctory  ;  then  look  abroad  into  this  lovely  land,  which  your 
young  valour  defended,  and  mark  the  happiness,  with  which 
§  it  is  filled  ;  yea,  look  abroad  into  the  whole  earth,  and  see 
^  what  a  name  you  have  contributed  to  give  to  your  country, 
'^■^  and  what  a  praise  you  have  added  to  freedom,  and  then  re- 
joice in  the  sympathy  and  gratitude,  which  beam  upon  your 
last  days  from  the  improved  condition  of  mankind. 


LESSON  XXXVIIL 

To  Seneca  Lake, — Percival. 

On  thy  fair  bosom,  silver  lake  \ 
The  wild  swan  spreads  his  snowy  sail. 
And  round  his  breast  the  ripples  break, 
As  down  he  bears  before  the  gale. 

On  thy  fair  bosom  waveless  stream  ! 
The  dipping  paddle  echoes  far, 
And  flashes  in  the  moonlight  gleam, 
And  bright  reflects  the  polar  star. 

The  waves  along  thy  pebbly  shore, 

As  blows  the  north  wind,  heave  their  foam. 

And  curl  around  the  dashing  oar, 

As  late  the  boatman  hies  him  home. 


How  sweet,  at  set  of  sun,  to  view 
Thy  golden  mirrour  spreading  wide, 


96  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  39. 

And  see  the  mist  of  mantling  blue 
Float  yound  the  distant  mountain'^  side. 

At  midnight  hour,  as  shines  the  moon, 
A  sheet  oif  silver  spreads  below, 
And  swift  she  cuts  at  highest  noon, 
Light  clouds,  like  wreaths  of  purest  snow. 

On  thy  fair  bosom  «ilver  lake  ! 
O  !  I  could  ever  sweep  the  oar, 
When  early  birds  at  morning  wake. 
And  evening  tells  us  toil  is  o'er. 


LESSON  XXXLX. 
View  af  the  iinteriour  of  a  New  England  Farm  House, — Mrs. 

SiGOURNEY.  *^ 


d 


It  was  a  long,  low  unpainted  house,  with  narrow  casements, 
situated  about  half  a  mile  from  the  main  road.  Near  it  was 
a  substantial  barn,  surrounded  by  a  large  yard,  where  a  num- 
ber of  animals  assembled,  exhibited  an  appearance  of  comfort, 
which  denoted  at  once,  a  kind  and  careful  master.  Cuffee 
alighting,  removed  the  bars,  which  formed  or  rather  obstructed, 
the  rustic  entnince  to  the  demesne  ;  and  then  addressed  a  few 
soothing  words  to  his  horse,  who  advanced  his  head,  and  bent 
down  his  quivering  ear,  as  if  the  sounds  of  the  human  voice 
were  either  comprehended,  or  beloved. 

As  Madam  L— t —  entered,  she  heard,  in  the  clattering  of 
knives  and  forks,  the  reason,  why  she  was  not  as  usual,  wel- 
comed at  the  door.  Unwilling  to  interrupt  the  refection  of 
the  family,  she  took  a  seat  unobserved.  She  found  herself  in 
the  best  room,  in  the  mansion,  but  to  this  the  inhabitants  of 
the  neighbouring  villages  would  assign,  neither  the  name  of 
"parlour,  hall,  or  drawing-room,"  avoiding  the  example  of 
their  city  acquaintance,  as  the  ancient  reformers  did  the  abo- 
minations of  the  Church  of  Rome. 

Adhering  to  their  habits  of  precision  as  tenaciously  as  to 
th-i^ir  ideas  of  simplicity,  they  gave  to  this  most  honourable 
ro')m,  an  appellation  derived  from  its  bearing  upon  the  cardi- 
n  il  points.  The  one  under  present  consideration,  being  visit- 
ed by  the  latest  beams  of  the  setting  sun,  and  the  first  breath- 


Lesson  39.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  97 

ings  of  the  summer  breeze,  was  denominated  the  "  southwest 
room.''  As  the  furniture  of  this  best  apartment  of  Farmer 
Larkin,  may  serve  as  a  sample  of  the  interiour  of  most  of  the 
Sanctum  Sanctorums  of  the  better  sort  of  agriculturists  at 
that  early  period,  it  may  be  well  to  add  a  brief  description. 

The  bed,  an  indispensable  appendage,  was  without  either 
curtains  or  high  posts,  and  decorated  with  a  new  woollen  co- 
verlet, where  the  colour  of  red  gorgeously  predominated  over 
the  white  and  green,  with  which  it  was  intermingled.  So 
small  a  space  did  it  occupy,  that  if,  like  Og,  king  of  Bashan, 
whose  gigantic  height  was  predicated  from  his  bedstead  of 
nine  cubits,  the  size  of  our  farmers  should  have  been  estima- 
ted by  the  dimensions  of  their  places  of  repose,  posterity 
would  do  them  immense  injustice. 

A  buffet,  or  corner-cupboard,  was  a  conspicuous  article,  in 
which  were  arranged  a  set  of  bright  pewter  plates,  some  red 
and  white  cups  and  saucers,  not  much  larger  than  what  now 
belong  to  a  doll's  equipage,  and  a  pyramidal  block-tin  tea-pot. 
The  lower  compartment  of  this  repository,  which  was  protect- 
ed by  a  door,  furnished  a  receptacle  for  the  Sabbath-day  hats 
and  bonnets  of  the  children,  each  occupying  its  own  place 
.upon  the  shelves.  In  the  vicinity,  was  what  was  denominated 
**  a  chist  o'  draws,"  namely,  a  capacious  vault  of  stained  pine, 
which,  opening  like  a  chest,  contained  the  better  part  of  the 
wardrobe  of  the  master  and  mistress  of  the  family ;  while, 
beneath,  space  was  left  for  two  or  three  drawers,  devoted  to 
the  accommodation  of  the  elder  children.  But  the  master- 
piece of  finery,  was  a  tea-table,  which,  elevating  its  round  disk 
perpendicularly,  evinced  that  it  was  more  for  show  than  use. 

Its  surface  displayed  a  commendable  lustre,  protected  by  a 
penal  statute,  from  the  fingers  of  the  children.  But  an  unruly 
kitten  use#to  take  delight  in  viewing,  on  the  lower  extremity 
of  that  polished  orb,  a  reflection  of  her  own  round  face,  and 
formidable  whiskers.  Unhappily  mistaking  the  appearance  of 
these  for  an  adversary,  she  imprinted  thereon  the  marks  of 
her  claws,  too  deeply,  for  all  the  efforts  of  the  good  housewife 
to  efface,  and  soon  after  expiated  her  crime  upon  the  scaffold. 
A  looking-glass,  much  smaller  than  the  broad  expansion  of  the 
Farmer's  face,  hung  against  the  roughly  plastered,  yet  unsul- 
lied wall.  A  few  hfgh,  strait-backed  chairs,  and  a  pair  of 
small  andirons  nicely  blacked,  whose  head  bore  a  rude  resem- 
blance to  the  '*  human  form  divine,"  completed  the  inventory 
of  goods  and  chattels. 

Over  the  low,  wide  fireplace,  hung  in  a  black  frame,  with- 
9 


98  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  39. 

out  the  superfluity  of  a  glass,  the  family  record,  legibly  pen- 
ned, with  a  space  very  considerately  left  for  future  additions. 
The  apartment  had  an  air  of  neatness,  beyond  what  was  then 
generally  observed  in  the  houses  of  those,  who  made  the  dairy, 
and  spinning-wheel,  the  prime  objects  of  attention.  The 
white  floor  was  carefully  sanded,  and  at  each  door,  a  broad 
mat,  made  of  the  husks  of  the  Indian  corn,  claimed  tribute 

from  the  feet  of  those  who  entered.     Where  Madam  L 

was  seated,  she  had  a  full  view  of  the  family,  surrounding 
their  peaceful  board,  and  so  cordially  engaged  in  doing  justice 
to  its  viands,  that  not  a  glance  wandered  to  the  spot,  which 
she  occupied. 

The  table,  covered  with  a  coarse  white  cloth,  bore  at  the 
head  a  large  supply  of  boiled  beef  and  pork,  served  up  in  a 
huge  dish  of  glazed  ware,  of  -a  form,  between  platter  and 
bowl,  though  it  probably  would  rank  with  the  latter  genus. 
A  mass  of  very  tine  cabbage,  appeared  in  the  same  reservoir, 
like  a  broad,  emerald  islet,  flanked  with  parsnips  and  turnips, 
the  favourite  **  long  and  short  saace^''  of  the  day.  At  the  bot- 
tom of  the  board,  was  an  enormous  pudding  of  Indian  meal, 
supported  by  its  legitimate  concomitants,  a  plate  of  butter, 
and  a  jug  of  molasses.  Four  brown  mugs  of  cider,  divided 
into  equal  compartments,  the  quadrangle  of  the  board,  and 
the  wooden  trenchers,  which  each  one  manfully  maintained, 
were  perfectly  clean  and  comfortable. 

Farmer  Larkin,  and  his  wife,  not  deeming  it  a  point  of  eti- 
quette to  separate  as  far  as  the  limits  of  the  table  would  per- 
mit, shared  together  the  post  of  honour  by  the  dish  of  meat. 
At  the  left  hand  of  the  father,  sat  his  youngest  son,  and  at  the 
right  hand  of  her  mother,  her  youngest  daughter.  Thus  the 
male  line,  beginning  at  Jehu,  and  touching  every  one,  accord- 
ing to  his  age,  passed  over  the  heads  of  Timothy  and  Jehoi- 
akim,  ending  in  Amariah,  the  nephew. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  female  line,  from  the  mother,  who 
held  in  her  lap  the  chubbed  Tryphosa,  passed,  with  geometri- 
cal precision,  through  the  spaces  allotted  to  Tryphena,  Kesiah, 
Roxey,  and  Reuey,  terminating  with  buxom  Molly.  She  was 
indeed  a  damsel  of  formidable  size,  but  of  just  proportions, 
and  employed  her  brawney  arm,  in  cutting  slices  from  a  large 
loaf  of  brown  bread,  which  she  distributed  with  great  exact- 
ness by  each  trencher,  as  soon  as  her  father  had  stocked  it  with 
meat,  and  her  mother  garnished  it  with  vegetables.  There 
was  something  pleasing  in  the  sight  of  so  many  healthy  and 
cheerful  faces,  and  in  the  domestic  order,  which  evidently  pre- 
vailed. 


Lesson  42.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  101 

They  told  of  the  feats  of  his  dog  and  gun, 
They  told  of  the  deeds  his  arm  had  done  : 

They  sung  of  battles  lost  and  won, 
And  so  they  paid  his  eulogy. 

And  o'er  his  arms,  and  o'er  his  bones, 
They  raised  a  simple  pile  of  stones  ; 

Which,  hallowed,  by  their  tears  and  moans, 
Was  all  the  Indian's  monument. 

And  since  the  Chieftain  here  has  slept, 
Full  many  a  winter's  winds  have  swept, 

And  many  an  age  has  softly  crept 
Over  his  humble  sepulchre. 


LESSON  XLIL 

The  Congress  of  1776. — Cushing. 

How  imposing  was  the  spectacle  of  that  assembly  of  the  con- 
script fathers  of  America  !  The  noble  stand  they  took  at  the 
threshold  of  the  temple  of  liberty  ;  the  glorious  oath,  which, 
like  another  Hannibal,  each  of  them  individually  swore  upon 
its  altar  ;  and  their  influence  over  the  subsequent  destinies 
of  our  country,  will  authorize  us,  on  this  solemn  occasion,  to 
pause  and  contemplate  the  men,  the  time,  and  the  circum- 
stances. 

The  forms,  under  which  the  highest  intellectual  powers  of 
man  exhibit  themselves,  are  as  numerous  and  diversified  as 
the  subjects,  to  which  his  restless  enterprise  and  insatiable 
curiosity  impel  his  attention.  The  scope  of  mind  is  bound- 
less as  all  space,  and  the  duration  of  its  efforts  endless  as 
time  ;  for  there  is  no  clime,  nor  country,  nor  age,  nor  cir- 
cumstance, where  the  human  soul  cannot  display  the  bright- 
ness of  the  celestial  fire,  with  which  it  is  warmed  and  animat- 
ed. The  frozen  regions  of  the  polar  circles,  where  the  soul 
would  seem  to  be  bound  in  fetters  of  ice,  and  the  burning 
plains  of  the  tropical  zone,  where  all  the  organs  and  faculties 
of  action  are  relaxed  by  the  exuberant  heat  of  an  equatorial 
sun,  even  these  extremities  of  climate  afford  a  theatre  for  the 
exhibition  of  genius,  ample  enough  to  show  that  its  opera- 
tions are  not  wholly  limited  to  those  happy  climes,  where  it 
9* 


i02  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  42. 

shines  forth  in  all  the  splendour  of  unimpaired  grace  and 
majesty. 

Nor  is  there  any  age  in  tlie  records  of  history,  nor  any 
combination  of  incidents  so  unpropitious  in  the  whole  of  time, 
that  in  it  genius  could  not  find  space  for  development.  The 
arts  of  war  and  peace, — science,  literature,  and  invention, — 
our  ambition,  our  avarice,  our  luxury, — all  furnish  motives  to 
elicit  the  lights  of  intellect.  For  it  is  not  in  the  sublime 
flights  of  poetry  alone,  that  this  diversity  of  the  subjects  and 
manifestations  of  genius  is  to  be  found.  The  most  inspired 
of  the  children  of  song  has  told  us, — 

The  poet's  eye,  in  a  fine  frenzy  rolling, 

Glances  from  heaven  to  earth,  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And,  as  imagination  bodies  forth 

The  form  of  things  unknown,  the  poet's  pen 

Turns  them  to  shapes,  and  gives  to  airy  nothing 

A  local  habitation  and  a  name. 

But  it  is  not  in  poetry  alone,  that  genius  acquires  '  a  local 
habitation  and  a  name.'  Range  through  the  universe,  and 
you  find,  in  the  beautiful  things  of  earth  and  air,  subjects  for 
it  to  embody  forth.  You  find  all  the  unnumbered  objects  of 
the  material  creation, — of  the  invisible  world  of  the  imagina- 
tion,— and  of  the  mysterious  and  complicated  passions  of  the 
human  breast, — alike  presenting  you  with  combinations  more 
countless  than  the  sands  of  the  sea,  and  all  of  them  minister- 
ing to  the  development  of  the  genius  of  man. 

Still  there  is  an  occasion  more  than  all  others  propitious  to 
the  display  of  preeminent  qualities  of  mind.  It  is  when  the 
stirring  impulses  of  revolution  pass  through  a  refined  and 
populous  people ;  and  a  great  nation  is  struggling  to  be  free. 
A  poor  and  savage  country  produces  no  exhibition  of  talent, 
but  cunning,  stratagem,  and  courage,  in  hunting  or  in  war  ; 
or  the  rude  effusions  of  bards  and  minstrels,  mingling  their 
irregular  strains  with  the  scene  of  barbarous  manners  around 
them,  like  the  beautiful  wild  flower  springing  up  with  its 
gay  and  brilliant  foliage  in  the  midst  of  the  desert.  The  In- 
dian of  South  America,  or  the  Asiatic  Tartar,  as  he  flies 
across  the  boundless  savannas  of  his  country,  on  steeds  fleet 
as  the  viewless  winds,  devoted  only  to  the  pleasures  of  the 
chase,  and  moved  to  greater  exertion  in  the  tumult  of  warfare 
alone,  has  comparatively  little  to  evoke  his  intellectual  pow- 
ers. 


Lesson  42.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  103 

But  among  a  people  who  have  attained  the  blessings  of 
civilization,  the  various  inducements,  which  awaken  our 
dormant  powers,  are  multiplied  beyond  all  conception,  and 
act  with  redoubled  force  in  stimulating  our  thoughts  and  pas- 
sions. There  the  soul  soars  on  the  wings  of  glory,  to  the 
etherial  regions  of  fancy.  There  luxury  and  opulence  spread 
a  thousand  temptations  before  the  eye  of  taste  and  invention, 
and  tax  the  resources  of  genius  to  the  utmost,  for  the  supply 
of  innumerable  complicated  wants,  unknown  to  a  rugged  un- 
taught nation.  There,  when  the  foundations  of  society  are 
unsettled  by  some  mighty  popular  commotion,  or  the  passions 
of  men  are  acted  upon  in  the  mass,  by  overpowering  causes 
of  excitement,  and  above  all,  if  the  conjuncture  be  one  of 
those  revolutionary  movements,  which  occasionally  agitate 
empires,  then  is  the  moment  for  the  children  of  genius  to 
rise,  like  a  second  earthborn  progeny,  to  astonish  the  world 
by  their  seemingly  instantaneous  growth,  and  by  the  stupen- 
dous effects  of  their  intellect. 

Witness  the  constellation  of  talents,  which,  on  every  such 
emergency,  has  poured  a  tide  of  glory,  in  reckless  prodigal- 
ity of  profusion,  over  lands,  that  dared  to  claim  and  exercise 
the  inalienable  right  of  men,  the  right  to  be  free.  Witness 
the  illustrious  names,  which,  crowned  with  splendour  in  the 
conflicts  of  ancient  Greece,  have  rested,  in  all  succeeding 
times,  upon  every  lip,  from  lisping  infancy  to  faltering  old 
age.  Witness  the  citizens  of  the  noble  democracies  of  mod- 
ern Italy,  who,  less  known  to  us  because  their  history  is  not 
associated  with  the  acquisition  of  a  classical  language,  yet 
emulated  the  magnanimity  of  their  Athenian  models,  and 
ought  to  be  equally  the  study  of  statesmen  in  every  republi- 
can country. 

Witness  the  transient  brightness  of  the  commonwealth  of 
England,  when  Hampden  and  Cromwell,  Milton  and  Vane, 
the  companions  and  friends  of  our  pilgrim  fathers,  trod  the 
path  of  honour,  and  attained  an  eminence,  which  we,  at  least, 
the  heirs  of  their  political  and  religious  principles,  should  ap- 
preciate and  applaud.  And  to  abstain  from  examination  of 
later  events, — of  the  progress  of  the  revolutionary  spirit  in 
Europe  and  in  Spanish  America, — witness  the  heroick  and 
patriotick  men,  who  shot  upward  in  our  sky,  like  a  meteor,  but 
not  like  a  meteor  to  dazzle  and  expire, — called  into  life,  as 
it  were,  by  the  allcreative  energies  of  the  war  of  our  inde- 
pendence. Such  were  the  men,  of  whom  the  congress  of 
seventysix  was  composed,  and  such  the  occasion,  which  elic- 
ited the  masterly  efforts  of  their  genius. 


104  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  4J>. 

Sublime  assembly  !  Admirable  men  !  But  one  alone  of 
that  band  of  choice  spirits  now  survives,  the  modest  and  ven- 
erable Carroll,  like  a  spared  monument  of  other  ages  ;  and 
long  may  he  live  to  enjoy  the  esteem  of  his  country,  as  the 
last  of  its  immortal  fathers  !  Under  the  inspiring  auspices  of 
patriotick  hope  they  nerved  themselves  to  honourable  achieve- 
ment. In  these  pacifick  times,  nay,  in  any  times,  few  are 
they,  who  are  called  upon  to  dare  the  terrours  of  death  in  the 
pitched  combat,  where  carnage  walks  at  noonday,  and  de- 
struction is  the  ruling  planet  of  the  hour.  And  fewer  still 
are  they,  to  whose  lot  it  falls,  in  the  walks  of  civil  life,  to  pass 
the  trying  crisis  of  fortitude  in  deliberating  upon  a  resolution 
so  fraught  with  interest,  so  big  with  impending  consequences, 
as  the  declaration  of  independence. 

In  the  councils  of  peace,  they  were  encountering  the  haz- 
ards of  war.  Although  seated  in  the  temple  of  Janus^  beside 
them  they  beheld  the  statue  of  Bellona.  The  senator,  who 
spoke  for  that  immortal  convention,  might,  like  the  Roman, 
and  with  more  of  truth  and  just  pride,  have  said  to  the  British 
monarch — I  bear  in  the  ample  folds  of  my  robe  both  peace 
and  war  ;  choose  ye  which  ye  will  take.  Their  shield  was 
the  enthusiasm  of  honour  true  to  its  temper  as  thrice  proved 
steel ;  their  motto, 

In  native  svrords,  and  native  ranks,  * 

The  only  hope  of  courage  dwells. 

And  although  they  themselves  should  fall  in  the  coming  strug- 
gle, they  had  confid^mce  to  believe  that  their  children,  and 
their  children's  children,  to  the  latest  generation,  would  enjoy 
that  promised  land,  of  which  they  might  only  gain  the  distant 
prospect. 

They  knew  themselves  to  be  merely  the  pioneers  of  the 
great  work  of  civil  improvement.  Theirs  would  be  the  task 
to  strike  out  a  rude  and  simple  path  in  the  newly  discovered 
clime,  to  set  up  and  establish  the  great  landmarks  of  right, 
and  to  leave  to  those,  who  should  follow  after  them,  to 
gather  the  rich  fruits  and  lovely  flowers  of  freedom,  which 
would  spring  from  the  prolifick  soil.  Just  as  the  first  hunters, 
who  penetrated  into  the  western  wilderness,  did  but  make 
an  imperfect  opening  into  that  unrifled  garden  of  primitive 
luxuriance,  while  succeeding  generations  alone  were  enabled 
to  reach,  in  tranquillity  and  plenty,  the  secure  fruition  of  its 
bounties.  It  w^as  their  fortune  to  pass  anxious  days  and 
sleepless  nights  in  camp  or  council,  ours  to  reap  the  benefit 


Lesson  43.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  105 

of  their  vigils  ;  theirs  to  wrestle,  to  suffer,  to  bleed  in  battle, 
ours  to  wear  the  silken  vestments  of  peace ;  theirs  to  peril 
themselves,  their  present  safety  and  their  future  fame,  upon 
the  hazardous  cast  of  revolution,  ours  to  possess  the  magni- 
ficent prize  they  won. 


LESSON   XLIII. 

Supposed  Speech  of  John  Adams  in  favour  of  the  Declara- 
tion of  Independence. — Webster. 

Sink  or  swim,  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  give  my 
hand,  and  my  heart,  to  this  vote.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that  in 
the  beginning,  we  aimed  not  at  independence.  But  there's  a 
Divinity  which  shapes  our  ends.  The  injustice  of  England 
has  driven  us  to  arms  ;  and  blinded  to  her  own  interest  for 
our  good,  she  has  obstinately  persisted,  till  independence  is 
now  within  our  grasp.  We  have  but  to  reach  forth  to  it,  and 
it  is  ours. 

Why  then  should  we  defer  the  declaration  ?  Is  any  man 
so  weak  as  now  to  hope  for  a  reconciliation  with  England, 
which  shall  leave  either  safety  to  the  country  and  its  liber- 
ties, or  safety  to  his  own  life,  and  his  own  honour  1  Are 
not  you,  sir,  who  sit  in  that  chair,  is  not  he,  our  venerable 
colleague  near  you,  are  you  not  both  already  the  proscribed 
and  predestined  objects  of  punishment  and  of  vengeance  1 
Cut  off  from  all  hope  of  royal  clemency,  what  are  you,  what 
can  you  be,  while  the  power  of  England  remains,  but  out- 
laws ? 

If  we  postpone  independence,  do  we  mean  to  carry  on,  or 
to  give  up,  the  war  1  Do  we  mean  to  submit  to  the  meas- 
ures of  parliament,  Boston  port  bill  and  all  1  Do  we  mean 
to  submit,  and  consent  that  we  ourselves  shall  be  ground  to 
powder,  and  our  country  and  its  rights  trodden  down  in  the 
dust  1  I  know  we  do  not  mean  to  submit.  We  never  shall 
submit. 

Do  we  intend  to  violate  that  most  solemn  obligation  ever 
entered  into  by  men,  that  plighting,  before  God,  of  our  sa- 
cred honour  to  Washington,  when  putting  him  forth  to  incur 
the  dangers  of  war,  as  well  as  the  political  hazards  of  the 
times,  v/e  promised  to  adhere  to  him,  in  every  extremity,  with 
our  fortunes  and  our  lives  1  I  know  there  is  not  a  man  here, 


106  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  43. 

who  would  not  rather  see  a  general  conflagration  sweep  over 
the  land,  or  an  earthquake  sink  it,  than  one  jot  or  tittle  of 
that  plighted  faith  fall  to  the  ground. 

For  myself,  having,  twelve  months  ago,  in  this  place, 
moved  you,  that  George  Washington  be  appointed  command- 
er of  the  forces,  raised  or  to  be  raised,  for  defence  of  Ameri- 
can liberty,  may  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning,  and  my 
tongue  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  hesitate  or  waver, 
in  the  support  I  give  him.  The  war,  then,  must  go  on.  We 
must  fight  it  through.  And  if  the  war  must  go  on,  why  put 
off  longer  the  Declaration  of  Independence  ?  That  measure 
will  strengthen  us.     It  will  give  us  character  abroad. 

The  nations  will  then  treat  with  us,  which  they  never  can 
do  while  we  acknowledge  ourselves  subjects,  in  arms  against 
our  sovereign.  Nay  I  maintain  that  England,  herself,  will 
sooner  treat  for  peace  with  us  on  the  footing  of  Independence, 
than  consent,  by  repealing  her  acts,  to  acknowledge  that  her 
whole  conduct  towards  us  has  been  a  course  of  injustice 
and  oppression.  Her  pride  will  be  less  wounded,  by  sub- 
mitting to  that  course  of  things  which  now  predestinates  our 
independence,  than  by  yielding  the  points  in  controversy  to 
her  rebellious  subjects.  The  former  she  would  regard  as  the 
result  of  fortune  ;  the  latter  she  would  feel  as  her  own  deep 
disgrace.  Why  then,  why  then,  sir,  do  we  not  as  soon  as 
possible,  change  this  from  a  civil  to  a  national  war  ?  And 
since  we  must  fight  it  through,  why  not  put  ourselves  in  a 
statQ  to  enjoy  all  the  benefits  of  victory,  if  we  gain  the  vic- 
tory ? 

If  we  fail,  it  can  be  no  worse  for  us.  But  we  shall  not  fail. 
The  cause  will  raise  up  armies  ;  the  cause  will  create  navies. 
The  people,  the  people,  if  we  are  true  to  them,  will  carry  us, 
and  will  carry  themselves,  gloriously,  through  this  struggle. 
I  care  not  how  fickle  other  people  have  been  found.  I  know 
the  people  of  these  colonies,  and  I  know  that  resistance  to 
British  aggression  is  deep  and  settled  in  their  hearts  and  can- 
not be  eradicated.  Every  colony,  indeed,  has  expressed  its 
willingness  to  follow,  if  we  but  take  the  lead.  Sir,  the  decla- 
ration will  inspire  the  people  with  increased  courage.  In- 
stead of  along  and  bloody  war  for  restoration  of  privileges,  for 
redress  of  grievances,  for  chartered  immunities,  held  under  a 
British  king,  set  before  them  the  glorious  object  of  entire  in- 
dependence, and  it  will  breathe  into  them  anew  the  breath  of 
life. 

Jlead  this  declaration  at  the  head  of  the  army  ;  every  sword 


Lesson  43.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  107 

will  be  drawn  from  its  scabbard,  and  the  solemn  vow  uttered, 
to  maintain  it,  or  to  perish  on  the  bed  of  honour.  Publish  it 
from  the  pulpit ;  religion  will  approve  it,  and  the  love  of  re- 
ligious liberty  will  cling  round  it,  resolved  to  stand  with  it, 
or  fall  with  it.  Send  it  to  the  publick  halls ;  proclaim  it 
there  ;  let  them  hear  it,  who  heard  the  first  roar  of  the  ene- 
my's cannon ;  let  them  see  it,  who  saw  their  brothers  and 
their  sons  fall  on  the  field  of  Bunker  hill,  and  in  the  streets 
of  Lexington  and  Concord,  and  the  very  walls  will  cry  out  in 
its  support. 

Sir,  I  know  the  uncertainty  of  human  affairs,  but  I  see,  I 
see  clearly  through  this  day's  business.  You  and  I,  indeed, 
may  rue  it.  We  may  not  live  to  the  time,  when  this  decla- 
ration shall  be  made  good.  We  may  die  ;  die,  colonists  ;  die, 
slaves ;  die,  it  may  be,  ignominiously  and  on  the  scaffold. 
Be  it  so.  Be  it  so.  If  it  be  the  pleasure  of  Heaven  that  my 
country  shall  require  the  poor  offering  of  my  life,  the  victim 
shall  be  ready,  at  the  appointed  hour  of  sacrifice,  come  when 
that  hour  may.  But  while  I  do  live,  let  me  have  a  country, 
or  at  least  the  hope  of  a  country,  and  that  a  free  country. 

But  whatever  may  be  our  fate,  be  assured,  be  assured,  that 
this  declaration  will  stand.  It  may  cost  treasure,  and  it  may 
cost  blood  ;  but  it  will  stand,  and  it  will  richly  compensate 
for  both.  Through  the  thick  gloom  of  the  present,  I  see  the 
brightness  of  the  future,  as  the  sun  in  Heaven.  We  shall 
make  this  a  glorious,  an  immortal  day.  When  we  are  in  our 
graves,  our  children  will  honour  it.  They  will  celebrate  it, 
with  thanksgiving,  with  festivity,  with  bonfires,  and  illumin- 
ations. On  its  annual  return  they  will  shed  tears,  copious, 
gushing  tears,  not  of  subjection  and  slavery,  not  of  agony  and 
distress,  but  of  exultation,  of  gratitude,  and  of  joy. 

Sir,  before  God,  I  believe  the  hour  is  come.  My  judg- 
ment approves  this  measure,  and  my  whole  heart  is  in  it.  All 
that  I  have,  and  all  that  I  am,  and  all  that  I  hope,  in  this 
life,  I  am  now  ready  here  to  stake  upon  it ;  and  I  leave  off, 
as  I  begun,  that  live  or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the 
declaration.  It  is  my  living  sentiment,  and  by  the  blessing 
of  God  it  shall  be  my  dying  sentiment  ;  independence,  now  ; 

and  INDEPENDENCE  FOREVER, 


106  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  44. 

LESSON   XLIV. 

Unanimous  Declaration  of  Independence,  of  the  thirteen  Uni- 
ted States  of  America, — Jefferson. 

When  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary 
for  one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands,  vi^hich  have  con- 
nected them  with  another,  and  to  assume,  among  the  powers 
of  the  earth,  the  separate  and  equal  station,  to  which  the  laws 
of  nature  and  of  nature's  God  entitle  them,  a  decent  respect 
to  the  opinions  of  mankind,  requires  that  they  should  declare 
the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the  separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are 
created  equal ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator,  with 
certain  unalienable  rights ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness ;  that  to  secure  these  rights, 
governments  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just 
powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed  ;  that  whenever 
any  form  of  government  becomes  destructive  of  these  ends, 
it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  in- 
stitute new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such  princi- 
ples, and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall 
seem  most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness. 

Prudence,  indeed,  will  dictate,  that  governments,  long  es- 
tablished, should  not  be  changed  for  light  and  traAsient  causes; 
and  accordingly  all  experience  hath  shewn,  that  mankind  are 
more  disposed  to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufferable,  than  to  right 
themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms,  to  which  they  are  accus- 
tomed. But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpations, 
pursuing  invariably  the  same  object,  evinces  a  design  to  re- 
duce them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it  is  their 
duty,  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide  new  guards 
for  their  future  security.  Such  has  been  the  patient  suffer- 
ance of  these  Colonies  ;  and  such  is  now  the  necessity,  which 
constrains  them  to  alter  their  former  systems  of  government. 
The  history  of  the  present  King  of  Great  Britain,  is  a  history 
of  repeated  injuries  and  usurpations,  all  having  in  direct  ob- 
ject, the  establishment  of  an  absolute  tyranny  over  these 
States.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be  submitted  to  a  candid 
world. 

He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws,  the  most  wholesome  and 
necessary  for  the  public  good.  He  has  forbidden  his  Govern- 
ours  to  pass  laws  of  immediate  and  pressing  importance,  un- 
less suspended  in  their  operation  till  his  assent  should  be  ob- 


Lesson  44.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  109 

tained  ;  and  when  so  suspended,  he  has  utterly  neglected  to 
attend  to  them.  He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the 
accommodation  of  large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  peo- 
ple would  relinquish  the  right  of  representation  in  the  legisla- 
ture, a  right  inestimable  to  them,  and  formidable  to  tyrants 
only. 

He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual, 
uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  depository  of  their  publick 
records,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compli- 
ance with  his  measures.  He  has  dissolved  Representative 
Houses  repeatedly,  for  opposing,  with  manly  firmness,  his  in- 
vasions on  the  rights  of  the  people.  He  has  refused  for  a 
long  time,  after  such  dissolutions,  to  cause  others  to  be  elect- 
ed ;  whereby  the  legislative  powers,  incapable  of  annihilation, 
have  returned  to  the  people  at  large  for  their  exercise  ;  the 
State  remaining  in  the  mean  time  exposed  to  all  the  dangers 
of  invasion  from  without,  and  convulsions  within. 

He  has  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  population  of  these  States ; 
for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  naturalization  of  for- 
eigners ;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encourage  their  migrations 
hither,  and  raising  the  conditions  of  new  appropriations  of 
lands.  He  has  obstructed  the  administration  of  justice,  by 
refusing  to  assent  to  laws  for  establishing  judiciary  powers. 
He  has  made  Judges  dependent  on  his  will  alone,  for  the  te- 
nure of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their 
salaries.  He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  new  offices,  and  sent 
hither  swarms  of  officers  to  harass  our  people,  and  eat  out 
their  substance.  He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace, 
standing  armies,  without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures.  He 
has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of  and  su- 
periour  to  the  civil  power. 

He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdiction 
foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledged  by  our  laws  ; 
giving  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation  ;  For 
quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us  :  For  pro- 
tecting them,  by  a  mock  trial,  from  punishment  for  any  mur- 
ders which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabitants  of  these 
States :  For  cutting  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world  : 
For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent :  For  depriving 
us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  beneiits  of  trial  by  jury : 

For  transporting  us  beyond  seas  to  be  tried  for  pretended 
offences :  For  abolishing  the  free  system  of  English  laws  in 
a  neighbouring  Province,  establishing  therein  an  arbitrary  go- 
vernment, and  enlarging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  render  it  at 
10 


IQB  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  44. 

LESSON   XLIV. 

Unanimous  Declaration  of  Independence,  of  the  thirteen  Uni- 
ted States  of  America, — Jefferson. 

When  in  the  course  of  human  events,  it  becomes  necessary 
for  one  people  to  dissolve  the  political  bands,  which  have  con- 
nected them  with  another,  and  to  assume,  among  the  powers 
of  the  earth,  the  separate  and  equal  station,  to  which  the  laws 
of  nature  and  of  nature's  God  entitle  them,  a  decent  respect 
to  the  opinions  of  mankind,  requires  that  they  should  declare 
the  causes  which  impel  them  to  the  separation. 

We  hold  these  truths  to  be  self-evident :  that  all  men  are 
created  equal ;  that  they  are  endowed  by  their  Creator,  with 
certain  unalienable  rights ;  that  among  these  are  life,  liberty, 
and  the  pursuit  of  happiness  ;  that  to  secure  these  rights, 
governments  are  instituted  among  men,  deriving  their  just 
powers  from  the  consent  of  the  governed  ;  that  whenever 
any  form  of  government  becomes  destructive  of  these  ends, 
it  is  the  right  of  the  people  to  alter  or  to  abolish  it,  and  to  in- 
stitute new  government,  laying  its  foundation  on  such  princi- 
ples, and  organizing  its  powers  in  such  form,  as  to  them  shall 
seem  most  likely  to  effect  their  safety  and  happiness. 

Prudence,  indeed,  will  dictate,  that  governments,  long  es- 
tablished, should  not  be  changed  for  light  and  traAsient  causes; 
and  accordingly  all  experience  hath  shewn,  that  mankind  are 
more  disposed  to  suffer,  while  evils  are  sufferable,  than  to  right 
themselves  by  abolishing  the  forms,  to  which  they  are  accus- 
tomed. But  when  a  long  train  of  abuses  and  usurpations, 
pursuing  invariably  the  same  object,  evinces  a  design  to  re- 
duce them  under  absolute  despotism,  it  is  their  right,  it  is  their 
duty,  to  throw  off  such  government,  and  to  provide  new  guards 
for  their  future  security.  Such  has  been  the  patient  suffer- 
ance of  these  Colonies  ;  and  such  is  now  the  necessity,  which 
constrains  them  to  alter  their  former  systems  of  government. 
The  history  of  the  present  King  of  Great  Britain,  is  a  history 
of  repeated  injuries  and  usurpations,  all  having  in  direct  ob- 
ject, the  establishment  of  an  absolute  tyranny  over  these 
States.  To  prove  this,  let  facts  be  submitted  to  a  candid 
world. 

He  has  refused  his  assent  to  laws,  the  most  wholesome  and 
necessary  for  the  public  good.  He  has  forbidden  his  Govern- 
ours  to  pass  laws  of  immediate  and  pressing  importance,  un- 
less suspended  in  their  operation  till  his  assent  should  be  ob- 


Lesson  44.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  109 

tained  ;  and  wlien  so  suspended,  he  has  utterly  neglected  to 
attend  to  them.  He  has  refused  to  pass  other  laws  for  the 
accommodation  of  large  districts  of  people,  unless  those  peo- 
ple would  relinquish  the  right  of  representation  in  the  legisla- 
ture, a  right  inestimable  to  them,  and  formidable  to  tyrants 
only. 

He  has  called  together  legislative  bodies  at  places  unusual, 
uncomfortable,  and  distant  from  the  depository  of  their  publick 
records,  for  the  sole  purpose  of  fatiguing  them  into  compli- 
ance with  his  measures.  He  has  dissolved  Representative 
Houses  repeatedly,  for  opposing,  with  manly  firmness,  his  in- 
vasions on  the  rights  of  the  people.  He  has  refused  for  a 
long  time,  after  such  dissolutions,  to  cause  others  to  be  elect- 
ed ;  whereby  the  legislative  powers,  incapable  of  annihilation, 
have  returned  to  the  people  at  large  for  their  exercise  ;  the 
State  remaining  in  the  mean  time  exposed  to  all  the  dangers 
of  invasion  from  without,  and  convulsions  within. 

He  has  endeavoured  to  prevent  the  population  of  these  States ; 
for  that  purpose  obstructing  the  laws  for  naturalization  of  for- 
eigners ;  refusing  to  pass  others  to  encourage  their  migrations 
hither,  and  raising  the  conditions  of  new  appropriations  of 
lands.  He  has  obstructed  the  administration  of  justice,  by 
refusing  to  assent  to  laws  for  establishing  judiciary  powers. 
He  has  made  Judges  dependent  on  his  will  alone,  for  the  te- 
nure of  their  offices,  and  the  amount  and  payment  of  their 
salaries.  He  has  erected  a  multitude  of  new  offices,  and  sent 
hither  swarms  of  officers  to  harass  our  people,  and  eat  out 
their  substance.  He  has  kept  among  us,  in  times  of  peace, 
standing  armies,  without  the  consent  of  our  legislatures.  He 
has  affected  to  render  the  military  independent  of  and  su- 
periour  to  the  civil  power. 

He  has  combined  with  others  to  subject  us  to  a  jurisdiction 
foreign  to  our  constitution,  and  unacknowledged  by  our  laws  ; 
giving  his  assent  to  their  acts  of  pretended  legislation  :  For 
quartering  large  bodies  of  armed  troops  among  us  :  For  pro- 
tecting them,  by  a  mock  trial,  from  punishment  for  any  mur- 
ders which  they  should  commit  on  the  inhabitants  of  these 
States :  For  cutting  off  our  trade  with  all  parts  of  the  world  : 
For  imposing  taxes  on  us  without  our  consent :  For  depriving 
us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  benefits  of  trial  by  jury : 

For  transporting  us  beyond  seas  to  be  tried  for  pretended 
offences :  For  abolishing  the  free  system  of  English  laws  in 
a  neighbouring  Province,  establishing  therein  an  arbitrary  go- 
vernment, and  enlarging  its  boundaries,  so  as  to  render  it  at 
10 


:^10  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  44. 

once  an  example  and  fit  instrument  for  introducing  the  same 
absolute  rule  into  these  Colonies :  For  taking  away  our  char- 
ters, abolishing  our  most  valuable  laws,  and  altering  funda- 
mentally the  forms  of  our  governments  :  For  suspending  our 
own  legislatures,  and  declaring  themselves  invested  with  power 
to  legislate  for  us  in  all  cases  whatsoever. 

He  has  abdicated  government  here,  by  declaring  us  out  o  f 
his  protection,  and  waging  war  against  us.  He  has  plundered 
our  seas,  ravaged  our  coasts,  burnt  our  towns,  and  destroyed 
the  lives  of  our  people.  He  is  at  this  time,  transporting  large 
armies  of  foreign  mercenaries  to  complete  the  works  of  death, 
desolation  and  tyranny,  already  begun  with  circumstances  of 
cruelty  and  perfidy,  scarcely  paralleled  in  the  most  barbarous 
ages,  and  totally  unworthy  the  head  of  a  civilized  nation. 

He  has  constrained  our  fellow-citizens,  taken  captive  on 
the  high  seas,  to  bear  arms  against  their  country,  become  the 
executioners  of  their  friends  and  brethren,  or  to  fall  themselves 
by  their  hands.  He  has  excited  domestick  insurrections 
amongst  us,  and  has  endeavoured  to  bring  on  the  inhabitants 
of  our  frontiers,  the  merciless  Indian  savages,  whose  known 
rule  of  warfare  is  an  undistinguished  destruction  of  all  ages, 
sexes,  and  conditions. 

In  every  stage  of  these  oppressions  we  have  petitioned  for 
redress,  in  the  most  humble  terms.  Our  repeated  petitions 
have  been  answered  only  by  repeated  injury.  A  Prince 
whose  character  is  thus  marked  by  every  act,  which  may 
define  a  tyrant,  is  unfit  to  be  the  ruler  of  a  free  people.  Nor 
have  we  been  wanting  in  attention  to  our  British  brethren. 

We  have  warned  them,  from  time  to  time,  of  attempts  by 
their  legislature  to  extend  an  unwarrantable  jurisdiction  over 
us.  We  have  reminded  them  of  the  circumstances  of  our 
emigration  and  settlement  here.  We  have  appealed  to  their 
native  justice,  and  magnanimity,  and  we  have  conjured  them 
by  the  ties  of  our  common  kindred,  to  disavow  these  usurpa- 
tions, which  would  inevitably  interrupt  our  connexions  and 
correspondence.  They,  too,  have  been  deaf  to  the  voice  of 
justice  and  of  consanguinity.  We  must,  therefore,  acquiesce 
in  the  necessity  which  denounces  our  separation,  and  hold 
them,  as  we  hold  the  rest  of  mankind — enemies  in  war  ;  in 
peace,  friends. 

We,  therefore,  the  representatives  of  the  United  States  of 
America,  in  General  Congress  assembled,  appealing  to  the 
Supreme  Judge  of  the  world,  for  the  rectitude  of  our  inten- 
tions, do,  in  the  name  and  by  authority  of  the  good  people  of 


Lesson  45.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  HI 

these  colonies,  solemnly  publish  and  declare,  that  these  Unit- 
ed Colonies  are,  and  of  right  ought  to  be,  free  and  indepen- 
dent States  ;  that  they  are  absolved  from  all  allegiance  to  the 
British  crown,  and  that  all  political  connexion  between  them 
and  the  state  of  Great  Britain,  is,  and  ought  to  be,  totally 
dissolved  ;  and,  that  as  free  and  independent  States,  they 
have  full  power  to  levy  war,  conclude  peace,  contract  alli- 
ances, establish  commerce,  and  to  do  all  other  acts  and 
things  which  Independent  States  may  of  right  do.  And  for 
the  support  of  this  declaration,  with  a  firm  reliance  on  the 
protection  of  Divine  Providence,  we  mutually  pledge  to  each 
other,  our  lives,  our  fortunes,  and  our  sacred  honour.  Sign- 
ed  by  order,  and  in  behalf  of  the  Congress. 

Attest,  John  Hancock,  President. 

Charles  Thompson,  Secretary, 


LESSON  XLV. 

The  Literary  characters  of  John  Adams  and   Thomas  Jef- 
ferson,-— Cushing. 

During  an  age  when  profound  learning  was  in  vogue,  and 
sciolism  as  rare,  as  it  now  is  abundant,  they  were  accounted 
ripe  and  accomplished  scholars.  In  these  times,  the  elements 
of  knowledge  are  more  widely  diffused  among  the  people. 
The  waters  of  the  sacred  fount  of  Helicon  have  welled  over 
its  sides,  and  its  golden  streams  now  meander  through  the 
land. 

The  early  writings  of  Adams  bespeak  a  mind  profoundly 
tinctured  with  the  learning  of  the  day ;  and  his  later  ones 
prove  that  he  kept  pace  with  the  progress  of  our  own  more 
busy  and  popular  literature.  His  contributions  to  literary 
and  political  journals  and  other  works,  since  his  retirement 
from  publick  duty,  and  his  occasional  letters,  which  the  daily 
press  has  seized  upon  with  avidity,  are  distinguished  for 
acuteness  of  reasoning,  ingenuity  of  conception,  a  lively  im- 
agination, and  the  most  remarkable  and  striking  felicity  of 
language. 

At  a  prior  period,  not  content  with  his  exertions  in  the 
senate  and  in  foreign  courts  in  aid  of  his  country,  he  came 
forth  as  an  able  and  efficient  champion  of  the  revolutionary 
cause,  in  many  controversial  pieces,  which  would  do  honour 


112  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoii  45. 

to  the  mind  or  the  pen  even  of  one,  whose  genius  and  leisure 
were  exclusively  devoted  to  the  cultivation  of  letters.  It  is 
sufficient  to  indicate  the  essays  of  Nov-Anglus,  tlie  Discourses 
on  Davila,  the  Defence  of  the  American  Constitutions,  nu- 
merous political  documents,  and  his  extensive  private  cor- 
respondence, all  which  exhibit  indisputable  marks  of  sterling 
rrenius,  accomplished  by  the  most  elaborate  study,  and  ele- 
vated to  the  dignity  of  the  subjects  he  discussed,  and  the 
inajestick  temper  of  the  times. 

These  observations  are  equally  applicable,  in  a  great  de- 
gree, to  the  writings  of  Jefferson.  In  them  the  same  vigour 
of  understanding,  the  same  creative  fancy,  and  the  same  pe- 
culiar happiness  of  diction,  are  features,  which  impress  the 
most  careless  observer.  Jefferson's  political  compositions 
arc  less  numerous  than  those  of  Adams,  but  the  inquisitive 
inind  of  the  former  struck  into  a  path  were  the  latter  did  not 
bllow  him,  and  successfully  cultivated  philosophy  and  physi- 
cal science,  while  Adams  continued  more  devoted  to  moral 
and  political  studies.  Of  this,  Jefferson's  valuable  and 
standard  work,  the  Notes  on  Virginia,  contains  ample  testi- 
mony. They  were  both  alike  imbued  with  an  elegant  and 
refined  literature,  which  beautified  and  adorned  their  higher 
accomplishments,  like  the  acanthus  leaves  crowning  the  ma- 
jcstick  proportions  of  the  classick  column. 

But  their  intellectual  tastes  were  as  happily  contrasted  in 
iome  things,  as  they  were  curiously  blended  in  others.  The 
vocation,  for  which  they  were  evidently  destined  by  nature, 
was  the  life  of  a  statesman.  Whatever  different  occupation 
they  might  have  selected  previously,  the  true  bent  of  their 
faculties  was  evidently  thither  ;  and  subservient  to  this  guid- 
ing and  governing  principle  were  all  their  literary  exertions. 

But  in  the  compositions  of  Adams  we  may  discern  more 
of  dignity,  in  Jefferson's,  of  grace;  of  energy  in  the  former, 
and  of  refinement  in  the  latter ;  in  this  one,  of  Grecian 
elegance,  in  that  of  Roman  power.  Jefferson  would  seem 
desirous  to  persuade  by  the  even  but  animated  flow  of  senti- 
ments and  reflections  ;  Adams,  to  send  conviction  to  the 
mind  by  the  graphick  illustration,  the  pointed  argument,  aim- 
ed,  as  it  were,  with  unerring  keenness,  at  the  truth. 

Jefferson,  in  fine,  wears  something  of  the  manner  of  one 
whose  natural  talents  were  assiduously  cultivated  in  the  closet, 
although  still  with  a  view  to  publick  usefulness  ;  and  there- 
fore his  writings  indicate  more  of  originality,  are  of  a  more 
speculative  cast,  and  more  visibly  traced  with  the  footsteps  of 


Lesson  45.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  113 

solitary  investigation.  Adams,  on  the  contrary,  shows  you 
in  every  sentence,  that  his  understanding,  although  richly 
stored  by  retired  study,  was  yet  trained  by  the  severe  disci- 
pline of  extensive  practice  at  the  bar,  and  active  exertion  in 
popular  assemblies  ;  and  had  thus  acquired  more  of  the  habit 
of  prompt  and  vigorous  action,  of  decisive  practical  views, 
which  the  engrossing  contests  of  the  forum  and  the  tribune 
necessarily  impress  upon  a  superiour  and  highly  cultivated 
genius,  when  subjected  to  their  influence. 

Had  Jefferson  left  no  other  evidence  of  his  talents  for 
writing,  the  declaration  of  independence  alone  would  serve 
to  immortalize  his  reputation.  Time  was,  when  the  charac- 
ter of  this  great  revolutionary  patriarch,  seen  through  the 
distorted  opticks  of  party,  was  so  grossly  misrepresented,  that 
men  gravely  denied  him  the  capacity  to  compose  the  consu- 
mately  beautiful  lines  of  that  splendid  manifesto  to  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth.  But  another  generation  has  rightly  ap- 
preciated his  deserts.  What  tradition  had  uniformly  asserted, 
but  jealousy  ventured  to  dispute,  is  now  become  matter  of 
history. 

It  was  reserved  for  Adams  himself  to  do  full  justice  to  the 
preeminent  merits  of  his  copatriot,  no  longer  viewed  as  his 
successful  competitor  for  the  palm  of  political  distinction. 
That  proud  performance  is  now  known  to  be  the  work  of 
Jefferson.  Adams  was  the  bold  and  eloquent  debater,  who 
urged  and  defended  the  measure,  big  with  the  fate  of  em- 
pires ;  Jefferson's  was  the  unequalled  skill,  which  embodied 
the  principles  of  liberty  in  the  language  of  inspiration,  as 
an  eternal  monument  and  landmark  for  the  guidance  of  pos- 
terity. 

Fortunate  pair  !  Could  the  imagination  of  man  desire  an 
occasion  more  auspicious  than  this,  to  confer  on  them  a  rare 
immortality  ?  Who,  that  burned  with  a  sacred  ambition  to 
transmit  his  name  down  to  remotest  ages,  associated  with 
some  signally  meritorious  intellectual  effort,  would  choose  a 
more  glorious  task  than  to  be  the  head  to  conceive,  or  the 
hand  to  execute,  the  declaration  of  American  independ- 
ence ? 

It  is  impossible  to  peruse,  without  admiration,  the  copious 
writings  of  the  sages,  nay  of  the  w  arriours,  of  the  revolution. 
How  rich  with  brilliant  and  elevated  thought,  how  skilful 
and  irresistible  in  argument,  how  overflowing  with  the  fervid 
illustrations  of  a  mind  impelled  by  overruling  circumstances 
to  the  strongest  efforts,  nay,  how  beautiful  in  the  pure  and 
10* 


114  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  46. 

finished  simplicity  of  a  style,  springing  racy,  fresh,  and  un- 
sophisticated from  a  full-fraught  soul  and  native  taste,  are  not 
the  sacred  charters  of  our  liberty,  the  exquisite  compositions 
of  Washington,  Jefferson,  Adams,  Quincy,  Otis,  Hamilton, 
and  all  the  mighty  growth  of  the  virgin  soil  of  freedom,  the 
giant  progeny  of  our  independence.  The  vivid  fire  of  genius 
lightens  from  every  line  they  left.  And  among  these  exalted 
names,  there  are  none  superiour,  none  equal,  to  Adams  and 
Jefferson,  in  scholastick  attainments,  and  in  their  supreme 
dominion  over 

Thoughts  that  breathe,  ami  words  that  burn. 


LESSON  XLVI. 

Grecian  Liberty. — Percival. 

liLuuious  Vision  !  who  art  thou, 

Witli  thy  starry  crown  of  light, 

liike  the  diadem  of  night 

On  the  /Ethiop  monarch's  brow  ? — 

And  why  art  thou  descending 

From  thy  bright  Olympian  throne, 

And  thy  lavish  glory  lending, 

Like  the  ever  rolling  sun, 

To  the  self  devoted  band 

On  the  threshold  of  their  land  ? 

Few,  but  hardy  are  their  ranks. 
And  they  never  will  retire, 
Though  ten  thousand  on  their  flanks 
Hurl  a  storm  of  steel  and  fire — 
Though  an  iron  tempest  rain 
Death  and  darkness,  till  the  day 
Pass  in  dim  eclipse  away — 
Though  the  thunderbolts  of  war. 
Plough  their  furrows  in  the  plain, 
And  the  echoing  mountains  bay 
To  the  tumult  from  afar. 

O  !  bright  and  glorious  creature 
Winged,  and  mailed,  and  armed  for  fight ; 
Though  beautiful  in  feature, 
Like  a  spirit  of  delight ; 


Lesson  46.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  115 

Yet  the  arching  of  thy  brow, 
And  thy  proud  and  gallant  form. 
Tell  of  one  who  rides  the  storm, 
When  the  sternest  warriours  bow, 
And  the  bravest  yield  their  breath 
At  the  summoning  of  Death. 

There  thou  standest  on  the  mountains^ 
And  the  sparkle  of  thy  spear. 
Like  a  sunbeam  on  the  fountains, 
To  the  gallant  few  below, 
Is  a  sign  of  wrath  and  fear 
To  the  blind  and  brutal  foe  ; — 
Like  a  beacon  let  it  blaze 
Broad  and  flaring,  till  it  daze 
All  who  come  with  foot  profane 
To  this  consecrated  plain. 
Where  thy  pure  and  perfect  shrine 
Youths  and  maidens  loved  to  twine 
With  the  laurel  and  the  myrtle — 
And  the  shadow  of  thy  grove, 
Haunt  of  innocence  and  love, 
Heard  the  winged  arrows  hurtle 
From  the  flowery-wreathen  bow, 
With  a  whisper  like  the  flow 
Of  a  brook,  that  winds  afar 
Underneath  the  Evening  Star. 

O !  they  were  happy  days. 
When,  reposing  in  the  shade. 
Elms,  and  vines,  and  poplars  made, 
It  was  all  thy  joy  to  gaze 
On  the  races  and  the  dances. 
Twining  hands  and  burning  glacftces, 
Where  Passion  went  and  came. 
Like  an  arrow  tipped  with  flame. 

Though  thou  didst  often  lie 
With  a  pleased  and  placid  eye. 
As  thy  children  took  their  pleasure, 
And  the  merry  flute  and  viol 
Told,  in  light  and  airy  measure. 
All  the  joys  and  sports  of  leisure  ; 
Not  the  less,  to  meet  the  trial, 


116  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  46. 

Thou  would'st  gird  thy  warlike  arms. 
And  with  bare  and  eager  blade, 
On,  though  dangers  and  alarms, 
To  the  wreath  of  Victory  wade. 

Thou  could'st  leave  thy  pleasant  woods, 
And  the  harvest  of  the  plain. 
And  along  the  torrent  floods 
To  the  frozen  mountains  climb. 
Where  they  reared  their  fronts  sublime ; 
Or  scorning  Slavery's  chain, 
Make  thy  dwelling  on  the  main. 

From  the  Dorian  rocks  and  caves. 
When  the  gorged  and  glutted  foe 
Lay  in  careless  ease  below, 
Like  an  Alpine  stream  that  raves 
When  the  autumn  rains  are  pouring, 
And  the  pines  in  mist  are  towering ; 
So  thou  did'st  rush  and  sweep 
To  the  dark  remorseless  deep, 
With  thy  fury  and  thy  force. 
Shield  and  chariot,  man  and  horse, 
•  And  thy  sword  wrought  far  and  wide, 

Till  the  land  was  purified. 

And  now  thou  dost  awake. 
And  thy  dream  of  ages  break — 
From  the  halls  of  ice  and  snow, 
Whence  thy  classick  rivers  flow  ; 
From  thy  palace  in  the  clouds. 
Where  the  light  of  evening  runs 
On  the  rolling  wreath  that  shrouds 
The  last  fefuge  of  thy  sons — 
Peaks,  that  never  Turk  has  trod, 
Where  the  armed  and  ardent  Klepht 
Found  his  shelter,  when  he  left, 
For  a  prey  to  wasting  fires. 
All  the  temples  of  his  God, 
And  the  dwellings  of  his  sires ; — 
From  thy  caverns  in  the  rock, 
From  thy  dark  and  hidden  hold. 
Thou  hast  nerved  thee  to  the  shock, 
And  thy  warning  shout  has  rolled — 


Lesson  47.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  11^ 

Height  from  height  has  caught  the  sound 

And  thy  foes  in  haste  retire  ; 

Now  the  tumuh  rises  higher — 

'Tis  a  nation's  cry  of  joy — 

*«  None  to  ravage  and  destroy — 

Not  a  foreign  foot  is  found 

On  our  consecrated  ground." 


LESSON  XLVIL 

Capture  of  a  Whale, — Cooper. 

The  Ariel  lay  in  a  small  bay,  and  on  board  of  her  were 
lieutenant  Barnstable,  the  midshipman,  Mr.  Merry,  and  the 
hero  of  the  piece,  long  Tom,  the  cockswain,  from  Nantucket, 
whose  father  was  a  Coffin,  and  his  mother  a  Joy. 

Barnstable  and  long  Tom  Coffin  being  out  in  a  whale  boat, 
the  former  exclaimed,  "•  Tom,  there  is  a  blow  of  a  whale — 'tis 
a  fin  back."  "  No,  Sir,  'tis  a  right  whale,"  answered  Tom  ; 
"  I  saw  his  spout ;  he  threw  up  a  pair  of  pretty  rainbows. 
He's  a  raal  oil-but,  that  fellow."  And  thus  he  could  not 
resist  the  temptation  of  having  "  a  stroke  of  the  harpoon  at 
the  impudent  rascal."  AVhile  they  were  pulling  towards 
their  game,  long  Tom  arose  from  his  crouching  attitude  in 
the  stern-sheets,  and  transferred  his  huge  frame  to  the  bows 
of  the  boat,  wherQ  he  made  such  preparations  to  strike  the 
whale  as  the  occasion  required.  The  tub  containing  about 
half  of  a  whale-line,  was  now  placed  at  the  foot  of  Barnsta- 
ble, who  had  been  preparing  an  oar  to  steer  with,  in  place  of 
the  rudder,  which  was  unshipped,  in  order  that,  if  necessary, 
the  boat  might  be  whirled  round,  when  not  advancing. 

Their  approach  was  utterly  unnoticed  by  the  monster  of 
the  deep,  who  continued  to  amuse  himself  with, throwing  the 
water,  in  two  circular  spouts,  high  into  the  air,  occasionally 
floGrishing  the  broad  flukes  of  his  tail,  with  a  graceful,  but 
terrifick  force,  until  the  hardy  seamen  were  within  a  few 
hundred  feet  of  him,  when  he  suddenly  cast  his  head  down- 
wards, and,  without  any  apparent  effort,  reared  his  immense 
body  for  many  feet  above  the  water,  waving  his  tail  violently, 
and  producing  a  whizzing  noise,  that  sounded  like  the  rush- 
ing of  winds. 


118  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  47. 

The  cockswain  stood  erect,  poizing  his  harpoon,  ready  for 
the  blow  ;  bat  when  he  beheld  the  creature  assume  this 
formidable  attitude,  he  waved  his  hand  to  his  commander, 
who  instantly  signed  to  his  men  to  cease  rowing.  In  this 
situation  the  sportsmen  rested  a  few  minutes,  while  the  whale 
struck  several  blows  on  the  water,  in  rapid  succession,  the 
noise  of  which  re-echoed  along  the  cliffs,  like  the  hollow 
reports  of  so  many  cannon.  After  this  wanton  exhibition  of 
his  terrible  strength,  the  monster  sunk  again  into  his  native 
element,  and  slowly  disappeared  from  the  eyes  of  his  pur- 
suers. 

"  Which  way  did  he  head,  Tom  ?"  cried  Barnstable,  the 
moment  the  whale  was  out  of  sight. 

*'  Pretty  much  up  and  down,  Sir,"  returned  the  cockswain, 
whose  eye  was  gradually  brightening  with  the  excitement  of 
the  sport ;  '*  he'll  soon  run  his  nose  against  the  bottom,  if  he 
stands  long  on  that  course,  and  will  be  glad  to  get  another 
snuff  of  pure  air  ;  send  her  a  few  fathoms  to  star-board.  Sir, 
and  I  promise  we  shall  not  be  out  of  his  track." 

The  conjecture  of  the  experienced  old  seaman  proved  true, 
for,  in  a  few  minutes,  the  water  broke  near  them,  and 
another  spout  was  cast  into  the  air,  when  the  huge  animal 
rushed,  for  half  his  length,  in  the  same  direction,  and  fell  on 
the  sea,  with  a  turbulence  and  foam  equal  to  that  which  is 
produced  by  the  launching  of  a  vessel  for  the  first  time,  into 
its  proper  element.  After  this  evolution,  the  whale  rolled 
heavily,  and  seemed  to  rest  from  further  efforts. 

His  slightest  movements  were  closely  watched  by  Barnsta- 
ble and  his  cockswain,  and  when  he  was  in  a  state  of  com- 
parative rest,  the  former  gave  a  signal  to  his  crew,  to  ply  the 
oars  once  more.    A  few  long  and  vigorous  strokes  sent  the  boat 
directly  up  to  the  broadside  of  the  whale,  with  its  bows  point- 
ed to  one  of  the  fins,  which  was  at  times,  as  the  animal  yield- 
ed sluggishly  to  the  actions  of  the  waves,  exposed  to  view. 
The  cockswain  poised  his  harpooA,  with  much  precision,  and 
then  darted  it  from  him  with  a  violence  that  buried  the  iron 
in  the  blubber  of  their  foe.     The  instant  the  blow  was  made, 
long  Tom  shouted,  with  singular  earnestness — *'  St  am  all  !" 
**  Stern  all  !"  echoed  Barnstable  ;   when  the  obedient  sea- 
men, by  united  efforts,  forced  the  boat  in  a  backward  direc- 
tion, beyond  the  reach  of  any   blow  from  their  formidable 
antagonist.      The  alarmed   animal,   however,   meditated   no 
such  resistance  ;  ignorant  of  his  own  power,  and  of  the  in- 
significance of  his  enemies,  he  sought  refuge  in  flight.     One 


Lesson  47.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  119 

moment  of  stupid  surprize  succeeded  the  entrance  of  the 
iron,  when  he  cast  his  huge  tail  into  the  air,  with  a  violence 
that  threw  the  sea  around  him  into  increased  commotion,  and 
then  disappeared,  with  the  quickness  of  lightning,  amid  a 
cloud  of  foam. 

"  Snub  him  !"  shouted  Barnstable  ;  **  hold  on,  Tom  ;  he 
rises  already." 

"  Ay,  ay,  Sir,"  replied  the  composed  cockswain,  seizing 
the  line,  which  was  running  out  of  the  boat  with  a  velocity 
that  rendered  such  a  manoeuvre  rather  hazardous,  and  caus- 
ing it  to  yield  more  gradually  round  the  large  loggerhead  that 
was  placed  in  the  bows  of  the  boat  for  that  purpose.  Pre- 
sently, the  line  stretched  forward,  and,  rising  to  the  surface, 
with  tremulous  vibrations,  it  indicated  the  direction,  in  which 
the  animal  might  be  expected  to  re-appear. 

Barnstable  had  cast  the  bows  of  the  boat  towards  that 
point,  before  the  terrified  and  wounded  victim  rose  once 
more  to  the  surface,  whose  time  was,  however,  no  longer 
wasted  in  his  sports,  but  who  cast  the  waters  aside,  as  he 
forced  his  way,  with  prodigious  velocity,  along  their  surface. 
The  boat  was  dragged  violently  in  his  wake,  and  cut  through 
the  billows  with  a  terrifick  rapidity,  that,  at  moments,  appear- 
ed to  bury  the  slight  fabrick  in  the  ocean.  When  long  Tom 
beheld  his  victim  throwing  his  spouts  on  high  again,  he  point- 
ed with  exultation,  to  the  jetting  fluid,  which  was  streaked 
with  the  deep  red  of  blood,  and  cried— ^*  Ay  !  I've  touched 
the  fellow's  life  !  it  must  be  more  than  two  feet  of  blubber 
that  stops  my  iron  from  reaching  the  life  of  any  whale,  that 
ever  sculled  the  ocean." 

**  I  believe  you  have  saved  yourself  the  trouble  of  using  the 
bayonet,  you  have  rigged  for  a  lance,^'  said  his  commander, 
who  entered  into  the  sport  with  all  the  ardour  of  one  whose 
youth  had  been  chiefly  passed  in  such  pursuits  ;  '*  feel  your 
line.  Master  Coffin  ;  can  we  haul  along-side  of  our  enemy  ? 
I  like  not  the  course  he  is  steering,  as  he  tows  us  from  the 
schooner.'' 

'''Tis  the  creature's  way.  Sir,"  said  the  cockswain  ;  ''you 
know  they  need  the  air  in  their  nostrils,  when  they  run,  the 
same  as  a  man  ;  but,  lay  hold,  boys,  and  let  us  haul  up 
to  him." 

The  seamen  now  seized  the  whale-line,  and  slowly  drew 
their  boat  to  within  a  {^\n  feet  of  the  tail  of  the  fish  ;  whose 
progress  became  sensibly  less  rapid,  as  he  grew  weak  with 
the  loss  of  blood.    In  a  i^yj  minutes,  he  stopped  running,  and 


120  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  47. 

appeared  to  roll  uneasily  on  the  water,  as  if  suffering  the 
agony  of  death. 

**  Shall  we  pull  in,  and  finish  him,  Tom  ?"  cried  Barnsta- 
ble ;  **  a  few  sets  from  your  bayonet  would  do  it." 

The  cockswain  stood  examining  his  game,  with  cool  dis- 
cretion, and  replied  to  this  interrogatory — "  No,  sir,  no — he's 
going  into  his  flurry  ;  there's  no  occasion  for  disgracing  our- 
selves, by  using  a  soldier's  weapon,  in  taking  a  whale.  Starn 
off.  Sir,  starn  off!  the  creature's  in  his  flurry  !" 

The  warning  of  the  prudent  cockswain,  was  promptly 
obeyed,  and  the  boat  cautiously  drew  off,  to  a  distance,  leav- 
ing the  animal  a  clean  space,  while  under  its  dying  agonies. 
From  a  state  of  perfect  rest,  the  terrible  monster,  threw  its 
tail  on  high,  as  when  in  sport ;  but,  its  blows  were  trebled, 
in  rapidity  and  violence,  till  all  was  hid  from  view,  by  a  pyri- 
mid  of  foam,  that  was  deeply  dyed  with  blood.  The  roarings 
of  the  fish,  were  like  the  bellowing  of  a  herd  of  bulls,  and  to 
one  who  was  ignorant  of  the  fact,  it  would  have  appeared  as 
if  a  thousand  monsters  were  engaged  in  deadly  combat,  be- 
hind the  bloody  mist  that  obstructed  the  view.  Gradually, 
these  effects  subsided,  and  when  the  discoloured  water  again 
settled  down  to  the  long  and  regular  swell  of  the  ocean,  the 
'fish  was  seen,  exhausted,  and  yielding  passively  to  its  fate. 
As  life  departed,  the  enormous  black  mass  rolled  to  one  side, 
and  when  the  white  and  glistening  skin  of  the  belly  became 
apparent,  the  searilen  well  knew  that  their  victory  was 
achieved. 

"What's  to  be  done  now?"  said  Barnstable,  as  he  stood 
and  gazed  with  a  diminished  excitement,  at  their  victim  ; 
"he  will  yield  no  food,  and  his  carcass  will  probably  drift  to 
land,  and  furnish  our  enemies  with  the  oil." 

"  If  I  had  but  that  creature  in  Boston  bay,"  said  the  cock- 
swain, "  it  would  prove  the  making  of  me  ;  but  such  is  my 
luck  for  ever  !  Pull  up,  at  any  rate,  and  let  me  get  my  har- 
poon and  line — the  English  shall  never  get  them,  while  old 
Tom  Coftin  can  blow." 


Lesson  48.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  121 

LESSON  XLVIII. 

Capture  of  the  British  Cutter  Alacrity,  hy  the  American 
Schooner  Ariel, — Cooper. 

Thus  far  the  cockswain  and  his  crew  had  the  fight,  on  the 
part  of  the  Ariel,  altogether  to  themselves,  the  men,  who  were 
stationed  at  the  smaller  and  shorter  guns,  standing  in  perfect 
idleness,  by  their  sides ;  but  in  ten  or  fifteen  minutes,  the 
commander  of  the  Alacrity,  who  had  been  staggered  by  the 
weight  of  the  shot,  that  had  struck  him,  found  that  it  was  no 
longer  in  his  power  to  retreat,  if  he  wished  it ;  when  he  de- 
cided on  the  only  course,  that  was  left  for  a  brave  man  to  pur- 
sue, and  steered,  boldly,  in  such  a  direction  as  would  soonest 
bring  him  in  contact  with  his  enemy,  without  exposing  his 
vessel  to  be  raked  by  his  fire. 

Barnstable  watched  each  movement  of  his  foe,  with  eagle 
eyes,  and  when  the  vessel  had  got  within  a  lessened  distance, 
he  gave  the  order  for  a  general  fire  to  be  opened.  The  ac- 
tion now  grew  warm  and  spirited  on  both  sides.  The  power 
of  the  wind  was  counteracted  by  the  constant  explosion  of  the 
cannon ;  and  instead  of  driving  rapidly  to  leeward,  a  white 
canopy  of  curling  smoke  hung  above  the  Ariel,  or  rested  on 
the  water,  lingering  in  her  wake,  so  as  to  mark  the  path,  by 
which  she  was  approaching  to  a  close  and  still  deadlier  struggle. 

The  shouts  of  the  young  sailors,  as  they  kindled  their  in- 
struments of  death,  became  more  animated  and  fierce,  while 
the  cockswain  pursued  his  occupation  with  the  silence  and 
.skill  of  one,  who  laboured  in  a  regular  vocation.  Barnstable 
was  unusually  composed  and  quiet,  maintaining  the  grave  de- 
portment of  a  commander  on  whom  rested  the  fortunes  of  the 
contest,  at  the  same  time  that  his  dark  eyes  were  dancing 
with  the  fire  of  suppressed  animation. 

''Give  it  them!"  he  occasionally  cried,  in  a  voice  that 
might  be  heard  amid  the  bellowing  of  the  cannon ;  **  never 
mind  their  cordage,  my  lads;  drive  home  their  bolts,  and 
make  your  marks  below  their  ridge  ropes.'' 

In  the  mean  time,  the  Englishman  played  a  manful  game. 
He  had  suffered  a  heavy  loss  by  the  distant  cannonade,  which 
no  metal  he  possessed  could  retort  upon  his  enemy  ;  but  he 
struggled  nobly  to  repair  the  error  in  judgment,  with  which  he 
had  begun  the  contest.  The  two  vessels  gradually  drew 
nigher  to  each  other,  until  they  both  entered  into  the  com- 
.  mon  cloud,  created  by  their  fire,  which  thickened  and  spread 
11 


122  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  48. 

around  them  in  such  a  manner  as  to  conceal  their  dark  hulls 
from  the  gaze  of  the  curious  and  interested  spectators  on  the 
cliffs. 

The  heavy  reports  of  the  cannon  were  now  mingled  with 
the  rattling  of  muskets  and  pistols,  and  streaks  of  fire  might 
be  seen,  glancing  like  flashes  of  lightning  through  the  white 
clouds,  which  enshrouded  the  combatants,  and  many  minutes 
of  painful  uncertainty  followed,  before  the  deeply  interested 
soldiers,  who  were  gazing  at  the  scene,  discovered  on  whose 
banners  victory  had  alighted. 

We  shall  follow  the  combatants  into  their  misty  wreath, 
and  display  to  the  reader  the  events  as  they  occurred. 

The  fire  of  the  Ariel,  was  much  the  most  quick  and  dead- 
ly, both  because  she  had  suffered  less,  and  her  men  were  less 
exhausted  ;  and  the  Cutter  stood  desperately  on  to  decide  the 
combat,  after  grappling,  hand  to  hand.  Barnstable  anticipa- 
ted her  intention,  and  well  understood  her  commander's  rea- 
vson  for  adopting  this  course,  but  he  was  not  a  man  to  calcu- 
late coolly  his  advantages,  when  pride  and  daring  invited  him 
to  a  more  severe  trial.  Accordingly,  he  met  the  enemy  half- 
way, and,  as  the  vessels  rushed  together,  the  stern  of  the 
schooner  was  secured  to  the  bows  of  the  Cutter,  by  the  joint 
efforts  of  both  parties.  The  voice  of  the  English  commander 
was  now  plainly  to  be  heard,  in  the  uproar,  calling  to  his  men 
to  follow  him. 

''  Away  there  boarders !  repel  boarders  on  the  starboard 
quarter  !"  shouted  Barnstable  through  his  trumpet. 

This  was  the  last  order  that  the  gallant  young  sailor  gave 
with  this  instrument,  for,  as  he  spoke,  he  cast  it  from  him, 
and  seizing  his  sabre,  flew  to  the  spot  where  the  enemy  was 
about  to  make  his  most  desperate  effort.  The  shouts,  execra- 
tions, and  tauntings  of  the  combatants,  now  succeeded  to  the 
roar  of  the  cannon,  which  could  be  used  no  longer  with  ef- 
fect, though  the  fight  was  still  maintained  with  spirited  dis- 
charges of  the  small  arms. 

**  Sweep  him  from  his  decks !"  cried  the  English  com- 
mander, as  he  appeared  on  his  own  bulwarks  surrounded  by  a  do- 
zen of  his  bravest  men;  *' drive  the  rebellious  dogs  into  the  sea!" 

'*  Away  there,  marines  !"  retorted  Barnstable,  firing  his  pis- 
tol at  the  advancing  enemy  ;  **  leave  not  a  man  of  them  to 
sup  his  grog  again." 

The  tremendous  and  close  volley  that  succeeded  this  order, 
wearly  accomplished  the  command  of  Barnstable  to  the  letter, 
and  the  commander  of  the  Alacrity,  perceiving  that  he  stood 


Lesson  48.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  123 

alone,  reluctantly  fell  back  on  the  deck  of  his  own  vessel,  in 
order  to  bring  on  his  men  once  more. 

"  Board  her  !  grey  beards  and  boys,  idlers  and  all !"  shout- 
ed Barnstable,  springing  in  advance  of  his  crew — a  powerful 
arm  arrested  the  movement  of  the  dauntless  seaman,  and  be- 
fore he  had  time  to  recover  himself,  he  was  drawn  violently 
back  to  his  vessel  by  the  irresistible  grasp  of  his  cockswain. 

**  The  fellow 's  in  his  flurry,"  said  Tom,  ''  and  it  wouldn't  be 
wise  to  go  within  reach  of  his  flukes ;  but  I'll  just  step  ahead 
and  give  him  a  set  with  my  harpoon." 

Without  waiting  for  a  reply,  the  cockswain  reared  his  tall 
frame  on  the  bulwarks,  and  was  in  the  attitude  of  stepping  on 
board  of  his  enemy,  when  a  sea  separated  the  vessels,  and  he 
fell  with  a  heavy  dash  of  the  waters  into  the  ocean.  As  twen- 
ty muskets  and  pistols  were  discharged  at  the  instant  he  ap- 
peared, the  crew  of  the  Ariel  supposed  his  fall  to  be  oc- 
casioned by  his  wounds,  and  were  rendered  doubly  fierce  by 
the  sight,  and  the  cry  of  their  commander. 

'^  Revenge  long  Tom  !  board  her." 

They  threw  themselves  forward  in  irresistible  numbers,  and 
forced  a  passage  with  much  bloodshed  to  the  forecastle  of  the 
Alacrity.  The  Englishman  was  overpowered,  but  still  re- 
mained undaunted — he  rallied  his  crew,  and  bore  up  most 
gallantly  to  the  fray.  Thrusts  of  pikes,  and  blows  of  sabres 
were  becoming  close  and  deadly,  while  muskets  and  pistols, 
were  constantly  discharged  by  those,  who  were  kept  at  a  dis- 
tance by  the  pressure  of  the  throng  of  closer  combatants. 

Barnstable  led  his  men,  in  advance,  and  became  a  mark  of 
peculiar  vengeance  to  his  enemies,  as  they  slowly  yielded  be- 
fore his  vigorous  assaults.  Chance  had  placed  the  two  com- 
manders on  opposite  sides  of  the  Cutter's  deck,  and  the  victo- 
ry seemed  to  incline  towards  either  party,  wherever  these  dar- 
ing oflicers  directed  the  struggle  in  person.  But  the  English- 
man, perceiving  that  the  ground  he  maintained  in  person,  was 
lost  elsewhere,  made  an  effort  to  restore  the  battle  by  changing 
his  position,  followed  by  one  or  two  of  his  best  men.  A^ma- 
rine,  who  preceded  him,  levelled  his  musket  within  a  few  feet 
of  the  head  of  the  American  commander,  and  was  about  to 
fire,  when  Merry  glided  among  the  combatants,  and  passed 
his  dirk  into  the  body  of  the  man,  who  fell  at  the  blow.  Shak- 
ing his  piece,  with  horrid  imprecations,  the  wounded  soldier 
prepared  to  deal  his  vengeance  on  his  youthful  assailant,  when 
the  fearless  boy  leaped  within  its  muzzle,  and  buried  his  9wn 
keen  weapon  in  his  heart. 


124  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  49. 

"•  Hurrah  !"  shouted  the  unconscious  Barnstable,  from  the 
edge  of  the  quarter-deck,  where,  attended  by  a  few  men,  he 
was  driving  all  before  him.  '*  Revenge — long  Tom  and  vic- 
tory !" 

**  We  have  them  !"  exclaimed  the  Englishman,  "-  handle 
your  pikes  !  we  have  them  between  two  fires." 

The  battle  would  probably  have  terminated  very  differently 
from  what  previous  circumstances  had  indicated,  had  not  a 
wild  looking  figure  appeared  in  the  Cutter's  channels,  at  that 
moment,  issuing  from  the  sea,  and  gaining  the  deck  at  the 
same  instant.  It  was  long  Tom — with  his  iron  visage  render- 
ed fierce  by  his  previous  discomfiture,  and  his  grizzled  locks 
drenched  with  the  briny  element,  from  which  he  had  risen, 
looking  like  Neptune  with  his  trident.  Without  speaking,  he 
poised  his  harpoon,  and  with  a  powerfid  effort,  pinned  the  un- 
fortunate Englishman  to  the  mast  of  his  own  vessel. 

**  Starn  all !"  cried  Tom,  by  a  sort  of  instinct,  when  the 
blow  was  struck  ^  and  catching  up  the  musket  of  the  fallen 
marine,  he  dealt  out  terrible  and  fatal  blows  with  its  butt,  on 
ill  who  approached  him,  utterly  disregarding  the  use  of  the 
bayonet  or  its  muzzle.  The  unfortunate  commander  of  the 
Alacrity  brandished  his  sword  with  frantic  gestures,  while  his 
'  yes  rolled  in  horrid  wildness,  when  he  writhed  for  an  instant 
in  his  passing  agonies,  and  then,  as  his  head  dropped  lifeless 
(ipon  his  gored  breast,  he  hung  against  the  spar,  a  spectacle 
of  dismay  to  his  crew.  A  few  of  the  Englishmen  stood,  chain- 
ed to  the  spot  in  silent  horror  at  the  sight,  but  most  of  them 
fled  to  their  lower  deck,  or  hastened  to  conceal  themselves  in 
fhe  secret  parts  of  the  vessel,  leaving  to  the  Americans,  the 
iindipputed  pos^e'^sion  of  tlio  Alacrity. 


LESSON  XLIX. 

Specimen  of  the   Eloquence  of  James   Otis :    ertracttd  from 
''  The  /^e;6e/5."— Miss  Francis. 

England  may  as  well  dam  up  the  waters  of  the  Nile,  with 
bulrushes,  as  to  fetter  the  step  of  freedom,  more  proud  and 
firm  in  this  youthful  land,  than  where  she  treads  the  seques- 
tered glens  of  Scotland,  or  couches  herself  among  the  mag- 
nificent mountains  of  Switzerland.  Arbitrary  principles, 
like  those,  against  which  we  now  contend,  have  cost  one  kingr 


Lesson  49.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  125 

of  England   his  life,  another   his  crown — and  they  may  yet 
cost  a  third  his  most  flourishing  colonies. 

We  are  two  millions — one  fifth  fighting  men.  We  are 
bold  and  vigorous, — and  we  call  no  man  master.  To  the 
nation,  from  whom  we  are  proud  to  derive  our  origin,  we 
ever  were,  and  we  ever  will  be,  ready  to  yield  unforced  assist- 
ance ;  but  it  must  not,  and  it  never  can  be  extorted. 

Some  have  sneeringly  asked,  "  Are  the  Americans  too 
poor  to  pay  a  few  pounds  on  stamped  paper  ?"  No  !  Ameri- 
ca, thanks  to  God  and  herself,  is  rich.  But  the  right  to  take 
ten  pounds,  implies  the  right  to  take  a  thousand  ;  and  what 
must  be'  the  wealth,  that  avarice,  aided  by  power,  cannot  ex- 
haust ?  True  the  spectre  is  now  small ;  but  the  shadow  he 
casts  before  him,  is  huge  enough  to  darken  all  this  fair  land. 

Others,  in  sentimental  style,  talk  of  the  immense  debt  of 
gratitude,  which  we  owe  to  England.  And  what  is  the 
amount  of  this  debt  ?  Why,  truly,  it  is  the  same  that  the 
young  lion  owes  to  the  dam,  which  has  brought  it  forth  on 
the  solitude  of  the  mountain,  or  left  it  amid  the  winds  and 
storms  of  the  desert. 

We  plunged  into  the  wave,  with  the  great^  charter  of  free- 
dom in  our  teeth,  because  the  faggot  and  torch  were  behind 
us.  We  have  waked  this  new  world  from  its  savage  lethar- 
gy ;  forests  have  been  prostrated  in  our  path  ;  towns  and 
cities  have  grown  up  suddenly  as  the  flowers  of  the  tropicks, 
and  the  fires  in  our  autumnal  woods  are  scarcely  more  rapid, 
than  the  increase  of  our  wealth  and  population. 

And  do  we  owe  all  this  to  the  kind  succour  of  the  mother 
country  ?  No !  we  owe  it  to  the  tyranny,  that  drove  us  from 
her, — to  the  pelting  storms,  which  invigorated  our  helpless 
infancy. 

But  perhaps  others  will  say  "  We  ask  no  money  from  your 
gratitude, — we  only  demand  that  you  should  pay  your  own 
expenses."  And  who  I  pray,  is  to  judge  of  their  necessity  ? 
Why,  the  King — (and  with  all  due  reverence  to  his  sacred 
majesty,  he  understands  the  real  wants  of  his  distant  sub- 
jects, as  little  as  he  does  the  language  of  the  Choctaws.) 
Who  is  to  judge  concerning  the  frequency  of  these  demands  1 
The  ministry.  Who  is  to  judge  whether  the  money  is  prop- 
erly expended  ?     The  cabinet  behind  the  throne. 

In  every  instance,  those  who  take,  are  to  judge  for  those 
who  pay  ;    if  this  system  is  suflTered  to  go  into  operation,  we 
i^hall   have  reason  to  esteem  it  a  great  privilege,  that  rain 
II* 


1^6  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  50. 

and  dew  do  not  depend   upon    parliament;  otherwise  they 
would  soon  be  taxed  and  dried. 

But  thanks  to  God,  there  is  freedom  enough  left  upon  earth 
to  resist  such  monstrous  injustice.  The  flame  of  liberty  is 
extinguished  in  Greece  and  Rome,  but  the  light  of  its  glow- 
ing embers  is  still  bright  and  strong  on  the  shores  of  Ameri- 
ca. Actuated  by  it  sacred  influence,  we  will  resist  unto 
death.  But  we  will  not  countenance  anarchy  and  misrule. 
The  wrongs,  that  a  despeiate  community  have  heaped  upon 
their  enemies,  shal  Ibe  amply  and  speedily  repaired.  Still,  it 
rnay  be  well  for  some  proud  men  to  remember,  that  a  fire  is 
lighted  in  these  colonies,  which  one  breath  of  their  king  may 
kindle  into  such  fury  that  the  blood  of  all  England  cannot 
extinguish  it 


LESSON  L. 

Passage  of  the  Delaware,  and  battles  of  Trenton  and 
Princeton,  1776. — Ramsay. 

On  the  capture  of  General  Lee,  the  command  of  his  army 
devolved  on  General  Sullivan,  who,  in  obediepce  to  the  orders 
formerly  given,  joined  General  Washington.  About  the 
same  time,  an  addition  was  made  to  his  force,  by  the  arrival 
of  a  part  of  the  northern  army.  The  Americans  now  amount- 
ed to  about  seven  thousand  men,  though,  during  the  retreat 
through  the  Jerseys,  they  were  seldom  equal  to  half  that 
number. 

The  two  armies  were  separated  from  each  other,  by  the 
river  Delaware.  The  British,  in  the  security  of  conquest, 
cantoned  their  troops  in  Burlington,  Bordenton,  Trenton, 
and  other  towns  of  New  Jersey,  in  daily  expectation  of  being 
enabled  to  cross  into  Pennsylvania,  by  means  of  ice,  which  is 
generally  formed  about  that  time.  On  receiving  information 
of  their  numbers,  and  different  cantonments,  Washington 
observed,  ''  Now  is  the  time  to  clip  their  wings,  when  they 
are  so  spread."  Yielding  to  his  native  spirit  of  enterprize, 
which  had  hitherto  been  repressed,  he  formed  the  bold  de- 
sign of  recrossing  the  Delaware,  and  attacking  the  British 
posts  on  its  eastern  banks. 

In  the  evening  of  christmas-day,  he  made  arrangements  for 
passing  over  in  three  divisions ;   at  M'Konkey's   ferry,   at 


Lesson  50.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  127 

Trenton,  and  at  or  near  Bordenton.  The  troops  which  were 
to  have  crossed  at  the  two  last  places,  exerted  themselves  to 
get  over,  but  failed  from  the  quantity  of  ice,  which  obstructed 
their  passage.  The  main  body,  about  two  thousand  four  hun- 
dred men,  began  to  cross  very  early  in  the  evening  ;  but, 
were  so  retarded  by  ice,  that  it  v,  as  nearly  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  before  they  were  in  a  condition  to  take  up  their 
line  of  march  on  the  Jersey  side.  They  were  formed  in  two 
divisions.  One  was  ordered  to  proceed  on  the  lower,  or 
river  road  ;  the  other,  on  the  upper,  or  Pennington  road. 
These,  having  nearly  the  same  distance  to  march,  were  or- 
dered immediately  on  forcing  the  out-guards,  to  push  direct- 
ly into  Trenton,  that  they  might  charge  the  enemy,  before 
they  had  time  to  form. 

Though  they  marched  different  roads,  yet  they  arrived 
within  three  minutes  of  each  other.  The  out-guards  of  the 
Hessian  troops  at  Trenton,  soon  fell  back  ;  but,  kept  up  a 
constant  retreating  fire.  Their  main  body  being  hard  press- 
ed by  the  Americans,  who  had  already  got  possession  of  half 
their  artillery,  attempted  to  file  oflf  by  a  road  leading  toward 
Princeton,  but  were  checked  by  a  body  of  troops  thrown  in 
their  way.  Finding  they  were  surrounded,  they  laid  down 
their  arms.  The  number,  which  submitted,  was  twenty-three 
officers,  and  eight  hundred  and  eighty-six  men.  Between 
thirty  and  forty  of  the  Hessians  were  killed  and  wounded. 
Colonel  Rahl  was  among  the  former,  and  seven  of  his  officers 
among  the  latter.  Captain  Washington,  of  the  Virginia 
troops,  and  five  or  six  of  the  Americans,  were  wounded. 
Two  were  killed,  and  two  or  three  were  frozen  to  death. 
The  detachment  in  Trenton,  consisted  of  the  regiments  of 
Rahl,  Losberg,  KniphaUsen,  amounting  in  the  whole,  to 
about  fifteen  hundred  men,  and  a  troop  of  British  light  horse. 
All  these  were  killed  or  captured,  except  about  six  hundred, 
who  escaped  by  the  road  leading  to  Bordenton. 

The  British  had  a  strong  battalion  of  light  infantry  at 
Princeton,  and  a  force  yet  remaining,  near  the  Delaware, 
superiour  to  the  American  army.  Washington,  therefore,  in 
the  evening  of  the  same  day,  thought  it  most  prudent  to  cross 
into  Pennsylvania  with  his  prisoners.  These  being  secured, 
he  recrossed  the  Delav/are,  and  took  possession  of  Trenton. 
The  detachments,  which  had  been  distributed  over  New  Jer- 
sey, previous  to  the  capture  of  the  Hessians,  immediately  after 
that  event,  assembled  at  Princeton,  and  were  joined  by  the 
army  from  Brunswick,  under  Lord  Cornwallis.     From  this 


CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  50, 

position,  they  came  forward  to  Trenton,  in  great  force,  hop- 
ing, by  a  vigorous  onset,  to  repair  the  injury  their  cause  had 
sustained  by  the  late  defeat. 

Truly  delicate  was  the  situation  of  the  feeble  American 
army.  To  retreat,  was  to  hazard  the  city  of  Philadelphia, 
and  to  destroy  every  ray  of  hope,  which  began  to  dawn  from 
their  late  success.  To  risk  an  action,  with  a  superiour  force 
in  front,  and  a  river  in  rear,  was  dangerous  in  the  extreme. 
To  get  round  the  advanced  party  of  the  British,  and,  by  push- 
ing forward,  to  attack  in  their  rear,  was  deemed  preferable 
to  either.  The  British,  on  their  advance  from  Princeton, 
attacked  a  body  of  Americans,  which  were  posted  with  four 
fieldpieces,  a  little  to  the  northward  of  Trenton,  and  compell- 
ed them  to  retreat. 

The  pursuing  British,  l>eing  checked  at  the  bridge,  over 
Sanpink  creek,  by  some  fieldpieces,  fell  back  so  far  as  to  he 
out  of  their  reach.  The  Americans  were  drawn  up  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  creek,  and,  in  that  position,  remained  till 
night,  cannonading  the  enemy  and  receiving  their  fire.  In 
this  critical  hour,  two  armies,  on  which  the  success  or  failure 
of  the  American  revolution  materially  depended,  were  crowd- 
ed into  the  small  village  of  Trenton,  and  only  separated  by  a 
creek,  in  many  places  fordable. 

The  British,  believing  they  had  all  the  advantages  they 
could  wish  for,  and,  that  they  could  use  them  when  they 
pleased,  discontinued  all  further  operations,  and  kept  them- 
selves in  readiness  to  make  the  attack  next  morning.  But 
the  next  morning  presented  a  scene  as  brilliant  on  the 
one  side,  as  it  waf  unexpected  on  the  other.  S<3on  after  it 
became  dark,  Washington  ordert^d  all  his  baggage  to  be 
silently  removed,  and  having  left  guards  for  the  purpose  of 
deception,  marched  with  his  whole  force,  by  a  circuitous 
route,  to  Princeton.  This  manojuvre,  was  determined  upon, 
in  a  council  of  war,  from  a  conviction  that  it  would  avoid  the 
appearance  of  a  retreat,  and  at  the  same  time,  the  hazard  of 
an  action  in  a  bad  position,  and  that  it  was  the  most  likely 
wfiy  to  preserve  the  city  of  Philadelphia,  from  falling  into  the 
hands  of  the  British.  Washington,  also  presumed,  that,  from  ^ 
an  eagerness  to  efface  the  impressions  made  by  the  late  cap- 
ture of  the  Hessians  at  Trenton,  the  British  commanders  had 
pushed  forward  their  principal  force  ;  and,  that  the  remain- 
der in  the  rear  at  Princeton,  was  not  more  than  equal  to 
his  own. 

The  event  verified  this  conjecture.     The  more  effectually 


Lesson  50.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  120 

to  disguise  the  departure  of  the  Americans  from  Trenton, 
fires  were  lighted  up  in  front  of  their  camp.  These  not  only 
gave  an  appearance  of  going  to  rest,  but,  as  flame  cannot  be 
seen  through,  concealed  from  the  British  what  was  transacting 
behind  them.  In  this  relative  position,  they  were  a  pillar  of 
fire  to  the  one  army,  and  the  pillar  of  a  cloud  to  the  other. 
Providence  favoured  this  movement  of  the  Americans.  The 
weather  had  been  for  some  time,  so  warm,  and  moist,  that 
the  ground  was  soft,  and  the  roads  so  deep,  as  to  be  scarcely 
passable  ;  but,  the  wind  suddenly  changed  to  the  northwest, 
and  the  ground  in  a  short  time,  was  frozen  so  hard,  that 
when  the  Americans  took  up  their  line  of  march,  they  were 
no  more  retarded  than  if  they  had  been  upon  a  solid  pave- 
ment. 

Washington  reached  Princeton  early  in  the  morning,  and 
would  have  completely  surprized  the  British,  had  not  a  party 
which  was  on  their  way  to  Trenton,  descried  his  troops,  when 
they  were  about  two  miles  distant,  and  sent  back  couriers  to 
alarm  their  unsuspecting  fellow-soldiers  in  their  rear.  These 
consisted  of  the  17th,  the  40th,  and  55th,  regiments  of  British 
infantry,  and  some  of  the  royal  artillery,  with  two  fieldpieces, 
and  three  troops  of  light  dragoons.  The  centre  of  the  Amer- 
icans, consisting  of  the  Philadelphia  militia,  while  on  their 
line  of  march,  was  briskly  charged  by  a  party  of  the  British, 
and  gave  way  in  disorder. 

The  moment  was  critical.  Washington  pushed  forward, 
and  placed  himself  between  his  own  men  and  the  British, 
with  his  horse's  head  fronting  the  latter.  The  Americans, 
encouraged  by  his  example,  and  exhortations,  made  a  stand, 
and  returned  the  British  fire.  The  General,  though  between 
both  parties,  was  providentially  uninjured  by  either. 

A  party  of  the  British  fled  into  the  college,  and  were  there 
attacked  with  fieldpieces,  which  were  fired  into  it.  The  seat 
of  the  muses  became,  for  some  time,  the  seat  of  action.  The 
party,  which  had  taken  refuge  in  the  college,  after  receiving 
a  few  discharges  from  the  American  fieldpieces,  came  out 
and  surrendered  themselves  prisoners  of  war.  In  the  course 
of  the  engagement,  sixty  ojf  the  British  were  killed,  and  a 
great  number  wounded,  and  about  three  hundred  of  them 
taken  prisoners.  The  rest  made  their  escape,  some  by  push^ 
ing  on  to  Trenton,  others  by  returning  to  Brunswick. 

While  they  were  fighting  in  Princeton,  the  British  in  Tren- 
ton were  under  arms,  and  on  the  point  of  making  an  assault 
on  the  evacuated   camp  of  the  Americans.     With  so  much 


130  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  51. 

address,  had  the  movement  to  Princeton  been  conducted, 
that  though,  from  the  critical  situation  of  the  two  armies, 
every  ear  may  be  supposed  to  have  been  open,  and  every 
watchfulness  to  have  been  employed  ;  yet,  Washington  mov- 
ed completely  off  the  ground,  with  his  whole  force,  stores, 
baggage,  and  artillery,  unknown  to  and  unsuspected  by  his 
adversaries.  The  British  in  Trenton,  were  so  entirely  de- 
ceived, that,  when  they  heard  the  report  of  the  artillery  at 
Princeton,  though  it  was  in  the  depth  of  winter,  they  suppos- 
ed it  to  be  thunder. 

The  British,  astonished  at  these  bold  movements  of  an  ene- 
my supposed  to  be  vanquished,  instantly  fell  back  with  their 
whole  force,  and  abandoned  every  post  they  held  to  the 
southward  of  New  York,  except  Brunswick  and  Amboy. 


LESSON  LJ. 

Lafayette, — Ticknor. 

General  Lafayette  was  born  in  Auvergne,  in  the  south 
of  France,  on  the  6th  of  September,  1757.  When  quite 
young,  he  was  sent  to  the  College  of  Du  Plessis  at  Paris,  where 
he  received  that  classical  education,  of  which,  when  recently 
at  Cambridge,  he  twice  gave  remarkable  proof  in  uncommon- 
ly happy  quotations  from  Cicero,  suited  to  circumstances  that 
could  not  have  been  foreseen.  Somewhat  later,  he  was  sent  to 
Versailles,  where  the  court  constantly  resided;  and  there  his 
education  was  still  further  continued,  and  he  was  made,  in  com- 
mon with  most  of  the  young  noblemen,  an  officer  in  the  army. 

When  only  between  sixteen  and  seventeen,  he  was  married 
to  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  d*Ayen,  son  of  the  Duke  de 
Noailles,  and  grandson  to  the  great  and  good  Chancellor 
d'Aguesseau  ;  and  thus  his  condition  in  life  seemed  to  be  as- 
sured to  him,  among  the  most  splendid  and  powerful  in  the 
empire.  His  fortune,  which  had  been  accumulating  during  a 
long  minority,  was  vast ;  his  rank  was  with  the  first  in  Eu- 
rope ;  his  connexions  brought  him  the  support  of  the  chief 
persons  in  France  ;  and  his  individual  character,  the  warm, 
open,  and  sincere  manners,  which  have  distinguished  him 
ever  since,  and  given  him  such  singular  control  over  the  minds 
of  men,  made  him  powerful  in  the  confidence  of  society 
wherever  he  went.     It  seemed,  indeed,  aa  if  life  had  nothinir 


Lesson  51.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  131 

iiirther  to  offer  him,  than  he  could  surely  obtain  by  walking 
in  the  path  that  was  so  bright  before  him. 

It  was  at  this  period,  however,  that  his  thoughts  and  feel- 
ings were  first  turned  towards  these  thirteen  colonies,  then  in 
the  darkest  and  most  doubtful  passage  of  their  struggle  for 
independence.  He  made  himself  acquainted  with  our  agents 
at  Paris,  and  learned  from  them  the  state  of  our  affairs.  No- 
thing could  be  less  tempting  to  him,  whether  he  sought  milita- 
ry reputation  or  military  instruction,  for  our  army,  at  that  mo- 
ment retreating  through  New  Jersey,  and  leaving  its  traces 
in  blood,  from  the  naked  and  torn  feet  of  the  soldiery,  as  it 
hastened  onward,  was  in  a  state  too  humble  to  offer  either. 
Our  credit,  too,  in  Europe  was  entirely  gone,  so  that  the  com- 
missioners, as  they  were  called,  without  having  any  commis- 
sion, to  whom  Lafayete  still  persisted  in  offering  his  services, 
were  obliged,  at  last,  to  acknowledge  that  they  could  not  even 
give  him  decent  means  for  his  conveyance.  *'  Then"  said  he, 
**  I  shall  purchase  and  fit  out  a  vessel  for  myself." 

He  did  so.  The  vessel  was  prepared  at  Bordeaux,  and  sent 
round  to  one  of  the  nearest  ports  in  Spain,  that  it  might  be 
beyond  the  reach  of  the  French  government.  In  order  more 
effectually  to  conceal  his  purposes,  he  made,  just  before  his 
embarcation,  a  visit  of  a  few  weeks  in  England,  the  only  time 
he  was  ever  there,  and  was  much  sought  in  English  society. 
On  his  return  to  France,  he  did  not  stop  at  all  in  the  capital, 
even  to  see  his  own  family,  but  hastened  with  all  speed  and  se- 
crecy, to  make  good  his  escape  from  the  country.  It  was  not 
until  he  was  thus  on  his  way  to  embark,  that  his  romantick 
undertaking  began  to  be  known. 

The  effect  produced  in  the  capital  and  at  court,  by  its  pub- 
lication, was  greater  than  we  should  now,  perhaps,  imagine. 
Lord  Stormont,  the  English  ambassador,  required  the  French 
ministry  to  despatch  an  order  for  his  arrest,  not  only  to  Bor- 
deaux, but  to  the  French  commanders  on  the  West  India  sta- 
tion ;  a  requisition,  with  which  the  ministry  readily  complied, 
for  they  were,  at  that  time,  anxious  to  preserve  a  good  under- 
standing with  England,  and  were  seriously  angry  with  a  young 
man,  who  had  thus  put  in  jeopardy  the  relations  of  the  two 
countries.  In  fact,  at  Passage,  on  the  very  borders  of  France 
and  Spain,  a  lettre  etc  cachet*  overtook  him,  and  he  was  arrest- 
ed and  carried  back  to  Bordeaux. 

*  A  leltre  de  cachet  is  an  order  from  the  government  for  apprehendiag 
and  imprisoaiag^  persons^ 


132  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesso7i  51. 

There,  of  course,  his  enterprise  was  near  being  finally  stop- 
ped ;  but  watching  his  opportunity,  and  assisted  by  one  or 
two  of  his  friends,  he  disguised  himself  as  a  courier,  with  his 
face  blacked,  and  false  hair,  and  rode  on  ordering  post-horses, 
for  a  carriage,  which  he  had  caused  to  follow  him  at  a  suitable 
distance  for  this  very  purpose,  and  thus  fairly  passed  the  fron- 
tiers of  the  two  kingdoms,  only  three  or  four  hours  before  his 
pursuers  reached  them.  He  soon  arrived  at  his  port,  where 
his  vessel  was  waiting  for  him.  His  family,  however,  still  fol- 
lowed him,  with  solicitations  to  return,  which  he  never  re- 
ceived ;  and  the  society  of  the  court  and  capital,  according 
to  Madame  du  Deffand's  account  of  it,  was  in  no  common  state 
of  excitement  on  the  occasion. 

Something  of  the  same  sort  happened  in  London.  "  We 
talk  chiefly,"  says  Gibbon,  in  a  letter  dated  April  12,  1777, 
'*  of  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette,  who  was  here  a  few  weeks  ago. 
He  is  about  twenty  ;  with  a  hundred  and  thirty  thousand  livres 
a  year,  the  nephew  of  Noailles,  who  is  ambassador  here. 
He  is  gone  to  join  the  Americans.  The  court  appear  to  be 
angry  with  him." 

Immediately  on  arriving  the  second  time  at  Passage,  the 
wind  being  fair,  he  embarked.  The  usual  course  for  French 
vessels  attempting  to  trade  with  our  colonies  at  that  period, 
was, 'to  sail  for  the  West  Indies,  and  then  coming  up  along 
our  coast,  enter  where  they  could.  But  this  course  would 
have  exposed  Lafayette  to  the  naval  commanders  of  his  own 
nation,  and  he  had  almost  as  much  reason  to  dread  them,  as 
to  dread  the  British  cruisers.  When,  therefore,  they  were 
outside  of  the  Canary  Islands,  Lafayette  required  his  captain 
to  lay  their  course  directly  for  the  United  States.  The  cap- 
tain refused,  allegiufj,  that  if  they  should  be  taken,  by  a 
British  force  and  carried  into  Halifax,  the  French  government 
would  never  reclaim  them,  and  they  could  hope  for  nothing 
but  a  slow  death  in  a  dungeon  or  a  prison-ship. 

This  was  true,  but  Lafayette  knew  it  before  he  made  the 
requisition.  He,  therefore,  insisted  until  the  captain  refused 
in  the  most  positive  manner.  Lafayette  then  told  him,  that 
the  ship  was  his  own  property,  that  he  had  made  his  ov;n  ar- 
rangements concerning  it,  and  tliat  if  he,  the  captain,  would 
not  sail  directly  for  the  United  States,  he  should  be  put  in 
irons,  and  his  command  given  to  the  next  officer.  The  cap- 
tain, of  course,  submitted,  and  Lafayette  gave  him  a  bond  for 
forty  thousand  francs,  in  case  of  any  accident.  They,  there- 
fore, now  made  sail  directly,  for  the  southern  portion  of  the 


Lesson  51.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  133 

United  States,  and  arrived  unmolested  at  Charleston,  S.  C.  on 
the  25th  of  April,  1777. 

The  sensation  produced  by  his  appearance  in  this  country, 
was,  of  course,  much  greater  than  that  produced  in  Europe 
by  his  departure.  It  still  stands  forth,  as  one  of  the  most 
prominent  and  important  circumstances  in  our  revolutionary 
jcontest ;  and,  as  has  often  been  said  by  one,  who  bore  no  small 
part  in  its  trials  and  success,  none  but  those  who  were  then 
alive,  can  believe  what  an  impulse  it  gave  to  the  hopes  of  a  popu- 
lation almost  disheartened  by  a  long  series  of  disasters.  And 
well  it  might ;  for  it  taught  us,  that  in  the  first  rank  of  the  first 
nobility  in  Europe,  men  could  still  be  found,  who  not  only  took 
an  interest  in  our  struggle,  but  were  willing  to  share  our  suf- 
ferings ;  that  our  obscure  and  almost  desperate  contest  for 
freedom  in  a  remote  quarter  of  the  world,  could  yet  find  sup- 
porters among  those,  who  were  the  most  natural  and  powerful 
allies  of  a  splendid  despotism ;  that  we  were  the  objects  of  a 
regard  and  interest  throughout  the  world,  which  would  add  to 
our  own  resources  sufficient  strength  to  carry  us  safely  through 
to  final  success. 

Immediately  after  his  arrival,  Lafayette  received  the  offer 
of  a  command  in  our  army,  but  declined  it.  Indeed,  during 
the  whole  of  his  service  with  us,  he  seemed  desirous  to  show, 
by  his  conduct,  that  he  had  come  only  to  render  disinterested 
assistance  to  our  cause.  He  began,  therefore,  by  clothing  and 
equipping  a  body  of  men  at  Charleston,  at  his  own  expense ; 
and  then  entered,  as  a  volunteer,  without  pay,  into  our  ser- 
vice. He  lived  in  the  family  of  the  commander  in  chief,  and 
won  his  full  affection  and  confidence.  He  was  appointed  a 
Major  General  in  our  service,  by  a  vote  of  Congress,  on  the 
31st  of  July,  1777,  and  in  September  of  the  same  year,  was 
wounded  at  Brandy  wine.  He  was  employed  in  1778,  in  many 
parts  of  the  country,  as  a  Major  General,  and  as  the  head  of  a 
separate  division,  and  after  having  received  the  thanks  of  Con- 
gress for  his  important  services,  embarked  at  Boston,  in  Jan- 
uary, 1779,  for  France,  thinking  he  could  assist  us  more  ef- 
fectually, for  a  time,  in  Europe  than  in  America. 

He  arrived  at  Versailles,  then  the  regular  residence  of  the 
French  court,  on  the  12th  of  February,  and  the  same  day  had 
a  long  conference  with  Maurepas,  the  prime  minister.  He 
was  not  permitted  to  see  the  king ;  and  in  a  letter  written  at 
court  the  next  day,  we  are  told,  that  he  received  an  order  to 
visit  none  but  his  relations,  as  a  form  of  censure  for  having 
left  France  without  permission ;  but  this  was  an  order  that  fell 
12 


134  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  51. 

very  lightly  on  him,  for  he  was  connected  by  birth  or  marriage 
with  almost  every  body  at  court,  and  every  body  else  thronged 
to  see  him  at  his  own  hotel. 

The  treaty,  whick  was  concluded  between  America  and 
France,  at  just  about  the  same  period,  was,  by  Lafayette's 
personal  exertions,  made  effective  in  our  favour.  He  labour- 
ed unremittingly  to  induce  his  government  to  send  us  a  fleet 
and  troops  ;  and  it  was  not  until  he  had  gained  this  point,  and 
ascertained  that  he  should  be  speedily  followed  by  Count  Ro- 
chambeau,  that  he  embarked  to  return.  He  reached  the  head- 
quarters of  the  army,  on  the  11th  of  May,  1780,  and  there 
confidentially  communicated  the  important  intelligence  to  the 
commander-in-chief. 

Immediately  on  his  return  from  his  furlough,  he  resumed 
his  place  in  our  service,  with  the  same  disinterested  zeal  he 
had  shown  on  his  first  arrival.  He  received  the  separate  com- 
mand of  a  body  of  infantry,  consisting  of  about  two  thousand 
men,  and  clothed  and  equipped  it  partly  at  his  own  expense, 
rendering  it  by  unwearied  exertions,  constant  sacrifices,  and 
wise  discipline,  the  best  corps  in  the  army.  AVhat  he  did  for 
us,  while  at  the  head  of  this  division,  is  known  to  all,  who 
have  read  the  history  of  their  country. 

His  forced  march  to  Virginia,  in  December  1780,  raising 
two  thousand  guineas  at  Baltimore,  on  his  own  credit,  to  sup- 
ply the  pressing  wants  of  his  troops;  his  rescue  of  Richmond, 
which  but  for  his  great  exertions,  must  have  fallen  into  the 
enemys  hands ;  his  long  trial  of  generalship  with  Cornwallis, 
who  foolishly  boasted  in  an  intercepted  letter,  that  *'  the  boy 
could  not  escape  him ;"  and  finally,  the  siege  of  Yorktown, 
the  storming  of  the  redoubt,  and  the  surrender  of  the  place, 
in  October,  1781,  are  proofs  of  talent  as  a  military  command- 
er, and  devotion  to  the  welfare  of  these  States,  for  which  he 
never  has  been  repaid,  and,  in  some  respects,  never  can  be. 

He  was,  however,  desirous  to  make  yet  greater  exertions  in 
our  favour,  and  announced  his  project  of  revisiting  France  for 
the  purpose.  Congress  had  already  repeatedly  acknowledged 
his  merits  and  services  in  formal  votes.  They  now  acknow- 
ledged them  more  formally  than  ever,  by  a  resolution  of  No- 
vember 23d,  in  which,  besides  all  other  expressions  of  appro- 
bation, they  desire  the  foreign  ministers  of  this  government 
to  confer  with  him,  in  their  negotiations  concerning  our  affairs ; 
a  mark  of  respect  and  deference,  of  which  we  know  no  other 
example. 


Lesson  52.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  135 

LESSON  LIL 

Escape  from  Winter. — Percival. 

O,  HAD  I  the  wings  of  a  swallow,  I'd  fly 
Where  the  roses  are  blossoming  all  the  year  long  ; 
Where  the  landscape  is  always  a  feast  to  the  eye. 
And  the  bills  of  the  warblers  are  ever  in  song  ; 
O !  then  I  would  fly  from  the  cold  and  the  snow, 
And  hie  to  the  land  of  the  orange  and  vine, 
And  carol  the  winter  away  in  the  glow, 
That  rolls  o'er  the  evergreen  bowers  of  the  line. 

Indeed,  I  should  gloomily  steal  o'er  the  deep. 

Like  the  storm-loving  petrel,  that  skims  there,  alone, 

I  would  take  me  a  dear  little  martin  to  keep 

A  sociable  flight  to  the  tropical  zone  ; 

How  cheerily,  wing  by  wing,  over  the  sea. 

We  would  fly  from  the  dark  clouds  of  winter  away, 

And  forever  our  song  and  our  twitter  should  be, 

**  To  the  land  where  the  year  is  eternally  gay." 

We  would  nestle  awhile  in  the  jessamine  bowers, 
And  take  up  our  lodge  in  the  crown  of  the  palm. 
And  live,  like  the  bee,  on  its  fruits  and  its  flowerSj 
That  always  are  flowing  with  honey  and  balm  ; 
And  there  we  would  stay,  till  the  winter  is  o'er, 
And  April  is  cliequered  with  sunshine  and  rain — 
O  !  then  we  would  fly  from  that  far-distant  shore 
Over  island  and  wave,  to  our  country  again. 

How  light  we  would  skim,  where  the  billows  are  rolled 
Through  clusters,  that  bendt  with  the  cane  and  the  lime  ; 
And  break  on  the  beaches  in  surges  of  gold. 
When  morning  comes  forth  in  her  loveliest  prime  ; 
We  would  touch  for  a  while,  as  we  traversed  the  ocean, 
At  the  islands  that  echoed  to  Waller  and  Moore, 
And  winnow  our  wings  with  an  easier  motion 
Thro'  the  breath  of  the  cedar,  that  blows  from  the  shore. 

And  when  we  had  rested  our  wings,  and  had  fed 
On  the  sweetness  that  comes  from  the  juniper  groves, 
By  the  spirit  of  home  and  of  infancy  led, 
We  would  hurry  again  to  the  land  of  our  loves  ; 


136  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  53, 

And  when  from  the  breast  of  the  ocean  would  spring. 
Far  off  in  the  distance,  that  dear  native  shore, 
In  the  joy  of  our  hearts  we  would  cheerily  sing, 
*'No  land  is  so  lovely,  when  winter  is  o'er." 


LESSON  LIIL 
The  elevated  character  of  Woman, — Carter. 

The  influence  of  the  female  character  is  now  felt  and  ac- 
knowledged in  all  the  relations  of  life.  I  speak  not  now  of 
those  distinguished  women,  who  instruct  their  age  through 
the  publick  press.  Nor  of  those  whose  devout  strains  we 
lake  upon  our  lips  when  we  worship.  But  of  a  much  larger 
class ;  of  those  whose  influence  is  felt  in  the  relations  of  neigh- 
bour, friend,  daughter,  wife,  mother. 

Who  waits  at  the  couch  of  the  sick  to  administer  tender 
charities  while  life  lingers,  or  to  perform  the  last  acts  of  kind 
ness  when  death  comes  ?  Where  shall  we  look  for  those  ex- 
amples of  friendship,  that  most  adorn  eur  nature  ;  those  abid- 
ing friendships,  which  trust  even  when  betrayed,  and  survive 
all  changes  of  fortune  1  Where  shall  we  find  the  brightest 
illustrations  of  filial  piety  ?  Have  you  ever  seen  a  daughter, 
herself,  perhaps,  timid  and  helpless,  watching  the  decline  of 
an  aged  parent,  and  holding  out  with  heroick  fortitude  to  an- 
ticipate his  wishes,  to  administer  to  his  wants,  and  to  sustain 
his  tottering  steps  to  the  very  borders  of  the  grave  ? 

But  in  no  relation  does  woman  exercise  so  deep  an  influ- 
ence, both  immediately  and  prospectively,  as  in  that  of  mother. 
To  her  is  committed  the  immortal  treasure  of  the  infant 
mind.  Upon  her  devolves  the  care  of  the  first  stages  of  that 
course  of  discipline,  which  is  to  form  of  a  being,  perhaps, 
the  most  frail  and  helpless  in  the  world,  the  fearless  ruler  of 
animated  creation,  and  the  devout  adorer  of  its  great  Crea- 
tor. 

Her  smiles  call  into  exercise  the  first  affections,  that 
spring  up  in  our  hearts.  She  cherishes  and  expands  the 
earliest  germs  of  our  intellects.  She  breathes  over  us  her  deep- 
est devotions.  She  lifts  our  little  hands,  and  teaches  our  little 
tongues  to  lisp  in  prayer.  She  watches  over  us,  like  a  guard- 
ian angel,  and  protects  us  through  all  our  helpless  years 
when  we  know  not  of  her  cares  and  her  anxieties  on  our 


Lessoti5i,]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  137 

account.  She  follows  us  into  the  world  of  men,  and  lives  in 
us  and  blesses  us,  when  she  lives  not  otherwise  upon  the  earth. 

What  constitutes  the  centre  of  every  home  ?  Whither  do 
our  thoughts  turn,  when  our  feet  are  weary  with  wandering, 
and  our  hearts  sick  with  disappointments  1  Where  shall  the 
truant  and  forgetful  husband  go  for  sympathy  unalloyed  and 
without  design,  but  to  the  bosom  of  her,  who  is  ever  ready 
and  waiting  to  share  in  his  adversity  or  his  prosperity.  And 
if  there  be  a  tribunal,  where  the  sins  and  the  follies  of  a  fro- 
ward  child  may  hope  for  pardon  and  forgiveness,  this  side 
heaven,  that  tribunal  is  the  heart  of  a  fond  and  devoted 
mother. 

Finally,  her  influence  is  felt  deeply  in  religion.  "  If  Christ- 
ianity should  be  compelled  to  flee  from  the  mansions  of  the 
great,  the  academies  of  philosophers,  the  halls  of  legislators, 
or  the  throng  of  busy  men,  we  should  find  her  last  and  purest 
retreat  with  woman  at  the  fireside  ;  her  last  altar  would  be 
the  female  heart ;  her  last  audience  would  be  the  children 
gathered  round  the  knees  of  the  mother  ;  her  last  sacrifice, 
the  secret  prayer  escaping  in  silence  from  her  lips,  and  heard, 
perhaps,  only  at  the  throne  of  God.'* 


LESSON  LIV, 

Hymn  of  the  Moravian  Nuns  at  the  Consecration  of  Pulas^ 
kVs  Banner, — Longfellow, 

[The  standard  of  Count  Pulaski,  the  noble  Pole  who  fell  in  the  attack 
upon  Savannah,  during^  the  American  Revolution,  was  of  crimson  silk, 
embroidered  by  the  Moravian  Nuns  of  Bethlehem,  in  Pennsylvania.] 

When  the  dying  flame  of  day 

Through  the  chancel  shot  its  ray, 

Far  the  glimmering  tapers  shed 

Faint  light  on  the  cowled  head. 

And  the  censer  burning  swung. 

Where  before  the  altar  hung 

That  proud  banner,  which  with  prayer 

Had  been  consecrated  there. 
And  the  nuns'  sweet  hymn  was  heard  the  while, 
Sung  low  in  the  dim  mysterious  aisle. 
12* 


138  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  55. 

Take  thy  banner  ! — may  it  wave 
Proudly  o'er  the  good  and  brave, 
When  the  battle's  distant  wail 
Breaks  the  sabbath  of  our  vale, — 
When  the  clarion's  musick  thrills 
To  the  hearts  of  these  lone  hills, — 
When  the  spear  in  conflict  shakes. 
And  the  strong  lance  shivering  ^breaks. 

Take  thy  banner  ! — and  beneath 
The  war-cloud's  encircling  wreath. 
Guard  it — till  our  homes  are  free — 
Guard  it — God  will  prosper  thee  ! 
In  the  dark  and  trying  hour, 
In  the  breaking  forth  of  power, 
In  the  rush  of  steeds  and  men. 
His  right  hand  will  shield  thee  then. 

Take  thy  banner  !     But  when  night 

Closes  round  the  ghastly  fight, 

If  the  vanquished  warriour  bow. 

Spare  him  ! — by  our  holy  vow. 

By  our  prayers  and  many  tears, 

By  the  mercy  that  endears, 

Spare  him — he  our  love  hath  shared — 

Spare  him — as  thou  wouldst  be  spared  ! 

Take  thy  banner  ! — and  if  e'er 
Thou  shouldst  press  the  soldier's  bier, 
And  the  muffled  drum  should  beat 
To  the  tread  of  mournful  feet. 
Then  this  crimson  flag  shall  be 
Martial  cloak  and  shroud  for  thee  ! 
And  the  warriour  took  that  banner  proud, 
And  it  was  his  martial  cloak  and  shroud. 


LESSON   LV. 

Description  of  a  skirmish, — Miss  Foster. 

The   scene  of  action  lay  in  a  stubble  field,  some  distance 
beyond  the  hill  ;     so  that   the  smoke   from  the  fire-arms, 


Lesson  55.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  139 

concealed  the  horrors  of  the  fight.  But  the  quick  and  ani- 
mated movements  of  the  parties,  and  the  rapid  glancing  of 
their  arms,  were  visible  ;  and  though  the  frequent  vollies  of 
musketry  involved  them  in  obscurity,  yet  the  clouds  of  smoke 
rose  so  swiftly  in  the  pure  atmosphere  of  the  morning,  that 
the  bustling  and  active  scene  was  at  one  instant  disclosed, 
and  the  next  shrouded  again  in  darkness.  The  parties  en- 
gaged were  small,  and  apparently  equal,  in  point  of  numbers. 
But  the  British  had  evidently  gained  the  advantage,  which 
they  were  vigorously  pursuing  ;  for  the  Americans,  though 
obstinately  defending  themselves,  were  gradually  retreating 
towards  the  forest,  in  their  rear. 

Major  Courtland  watched  his  daughter's  countenance,  with 
interest,  as,  after  the  first  undecided  moment,  she  continued 
earnestly  to  gaze  upon  this  scene.  Her  kindling  eye,  her 
flushed  cheek,  her  profound  silence,  and  motionless  attitude, 
evinced  the  intense  and  fervent  feeling,  with  which  the  spec- 
Itacle  inspired  her. 

O'Carroll's  frequent  exclamation  of  **  Bravo  !"  ''  Huzza 
for  king  George  !"  and  *'  The  royalists  have  won  the  day  !" 
were  seemingly  unheard  by  her ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  ranks 
of  the  Americans,  which  had  hitherto  remained  firm  and  un- 
broken, suddenly  gave  way,  and  they  began  to  retreat  in  con- 
fusion, that  she  moved,  or  uttered  a  word.  But  then  her 
colour  heightened  to  crimson,  and,  clasping  her  hands,  she 
exclaimed  with  emotion, 

**  Shame  !  Shame  !  They  fly,  and  from  a  force  no  larger 
than  their  own  !'* 

*'  And  they  seem  to  understand  it  too,"  said  O'Carroll. 
"  I  rather  suspect,  from  their  gestures,  that  this  is  not  the 
first  time  the  foe  has  seen  their  backs.  The  officer,  who  is 
endeavouring  to  rally  them,  however,  is  a  brave  fellow.  But  I 
fear  he  has  fought  his  last  field  ;  for  there  is  no  escaping 
Talbot's  manoeuvring,  in  such  a  predicament." 

"  Does  Captain  Talbot  command  the  royalists  ?"  asked 
Catherine,  aroused  by  O'Carroll's  observation. 

*'  Yes,  I  met  him  as  I  was  riding  this  morning,"  returned 
the  Captain.  "It  seems  they  were  informed  by  a  deserter, 
who  had  grown  weary  of  the  hard  fare  and  cold  quarters  of 
Valley  Forge,  that  this  foraging  party  was  to  leave  the  camp 
this  morning  ;  and  Talbot  and  his  men  were  lying  in  wait 
for  them,  behind  the  group  of  maples  yonder,  when  I  en- 
countered him.  The  Americans  were  coming  up,  when  I 
left  him,  and  I  had  just  time  to  ride  home,  and  leave  my 


140  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  55. 

horse,  before  the  first  musket-shot  gave  the  signal  that  the  en- 
gagement had  commenced.  But,  upon  my  faith,  the  rebels 
have  nearly  gained  the  forest ;  all  except  that  foolish  officer^ 
who  will  lose  his  life  by  seeking  to  rally  the  cowards." 

While  O'Carroll  spoke,  scarcely  heeded  either  by  Cathe- 
rine or  her  father,  the  Americans  continued  to  retreat  in 
great  disorder,  unmindful  of  the  threatenings  or  persuasions 
of  their  commanding  officer,  who  used  every  exertion  in  his 
power  to  induce  them  to  renew  the  contest.  But  it  was  all 
in  vain  ;  they  seemed  completely  panick  struck,  and  eager 
only  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  their  conquerours,  when  sud- 
denly their  flight  was  arrested. 

A  single  horseman,  wearing  the  uniform  of  the  continen- 
tal army,  sprang  from  behind  a  small  copse  of  trees,  and  leap- 
ing the  slight  barrier  of  rails,  which  enclosed  the  field  of  ac- 
tion, waved  his  sword  with  an  air  of  defiance,  and  called 
aloud  upon  the  flying  troops  to  rally,  and  act  like  men.  The^ 
tones  of  his  commanding  voice  wore  heard  distinctly  on  th4|pr 
hill,  where  the  party  of  observation  were  stationed,  and  they 
seemed  like  magick  to  arrest  the  course  of  the  defeated  sol- 
diers ;  for  they  instantly  stood  still,  and  the  officer  placing 
himself  at  their  head,  they  collected,  and  with  inconceivable 
rapidity  formed  a  compact  body,  presenting  a  firm  and  daunt- 
less front. 

This  sudden  movement  produced  a  visible  sensation  in  the 
enemy.  They  slackened  their  fire,  and  retreating  a  few 
steps,  drew  up  again  in  order  of  battle.  The  attack  recom- 
menced with  new  fury ;  the  British  fighting  as  if  resolved  to 
win  a  second  victory,  and  the  Americans  as  if  determine^  to 
atone  for  the  shame  of  their  preijiature  flight. 

"  Confound  those  rebels  !"  exclaimed  O'Carroll,  who,  with 
his  companions,  h^  anxiously  watched  the  progress  of  this 
unexpected  revolution ;  '*  they  have  always  some  co7ys  de  re- 
serve^ some  slashing  hero,  or  cunning  stratagem,  to  turn  the 
fortune  of  fight.  We  had  fairly  won  the  field,  when  that  tall 
fellow  came.  Heaven  only  knows  from  whence,  to  pluck  back 
our  laurels,  and  bind  them  on  his  own  rebel  brows." 

'*  Do  not  begin  your  lamentation  too  soon,  O'Carroll,"  said 
the  Major.  "Our  laurels,  perhaps,  may  bloom  the  brighter 
for  this  fresh  attack  ;  if  we  beat  them  from  the  field  again,  it 
is  a  double  victory,  you  know." 

"  /f " — repeated  O'Carroll.  **  There  is  a  great  deal  de- 
pending on  the  little  wofd  ij\  Major.  //'  this  knight-errant 
had  not  leaped  into  the  field,  his  rebel  followers  would  before 


Lesson  55.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  Ml 

now  have  leaped  out  of  it ;  and  if  the  next  musket-ball 
knocks  him  from  his  horse,  the  victory  may  be  ours  ;  but  if 
not,  Major" 

*'  Have  done  with  your  ifs,  O'Carroll,"  interrupted  the 
Major  hastily.  *'  This  champion  has  put  real  courage  into 
his  soldiers,  and  in  spite  of  Talbot  and  all  his  men,  they  will 
beat  us  hollow." 

**  Our  fellows  are  giving  way,"  exclaimed  O'Carroll.  *'  By 
St.  Patrick,  they  might  have  held  out  longer.  Were  it  not 
for  the  cursed  treaty,  that  so  fetters  our  valour,  Major,  we 
might  leap  to  the  rescue,  with  as  valiant  an  air  as  this  same 
doughty  hero,  who  has  so  steeled  the  courage  of  his  own  vil- 
lains, and  melted  that  of  ours.  How  the  fellow  bears  himself! 
As  haughtily  as  if  he  had  conquered  a  host,  and  were  about 
to  dictate  another  treaty  of  surrender  !" 

"  The  treaty  of  surrendei*  again  !"  exclaimed  the  Major, 
HHpdtiently.  "  You  round  off  every  sentence,  O'Carroll,  with 
this  detestable  treaty ;  and  begin  with  what  you  will,  the 
Great  Mogul,  the  Pope  of  Rome,  the  usurpation  of  the  round 
headed  Cromwell,  or  any  thing  else  equally  foreign  to  the 
subject,  you  are  sure  to  rack  your  ingenuity,  in  order  to  name 
this  treaty  of  Saratoga,  the  remembrance  of  which  seems  to 
afford  you  the  most  exquisite  pleasure." 

*'  Have  patience,  Major,"  said  O'Carroll,  his  whole  atten- 
tion directed  to  the  movements  of  the  combatants ;  "  and 
look,  look  quick,  by  St.  George,  Talbot  is  down,  and  his  sol- 
diers are  flying !" 

Major  Courtland's  attention  was  instantly  directed  to  the 
scene  of  action,  and  he  saw  at  once,  that  the  issue  of  the 
contest  was  decided.  The  second  assault  of  the  Americans 
had  been  far  more  furious  and  determined  than  the  first. 
Animated  by  the  presence  of  a  leader,  whom  they  idolized, 
and  solicitous  to  retrieve  their  tarnished  honour,  they  fought 
with  intrepid  boldness,  till  the  enemy,  discouraged  by  this 
fierce  attack,  began  to  falter,  and  at  length  gave  way.  It  is 
possible  they  might  have  recovered  themselves,  had  not  the 
fall  of  Captain  Talbot  served  to  complete  their  confusion ; 
when  they  instantly  took  to  flight,  leaving  a  number  dead  on 
the  field,  and  several,  beside  their  Captain,  desperately 
wounded. 


1^  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  56. 

LESSON  LVI. 

Liberty  to  Athens, — Percival. 

The  flag  of  freedom  floats  once  more 

Around  the  lofty  Parthenon  ; 

It  waves,  as  waved  the  palm  of  yore, 

In  days  departed  long  and  gone  ; 

As  bright  a  glory,  from  the  skies, 

Pours  down  its  light  around  those  towers. 

And  once  again  the  Greeks  arise, 

As  in  their  country's  noblest  hours ; 

Their  swords  are  girt  in  virtue's  cause, 

Minerva's  sacred  hill  is  free — 

O  !  may  she  keep  her  equal  laws. 

While  man  shall  live,  and  time  shall  be. 

The  pride  of  all  her  shrines  went  down  ; 
The  Goth,  the  Frank,  the  Turk,  had  reft 
The  laurel  from  her  civick  crowi^ ; 
Her  helm  by  many  a  sword  was  cleft  : 
She  lay  among  her  ruins  low — 
Where  grew  the  palm,  the  cypress  rose, 
And  crushed  and  bruised  by  many  a  blow, 
She  cowered  beneath  her  savage  foes ; 
But  now  again  she  springs  from  earth. 
Her  loud,  awakening  trumpet  speaks  ; 
She  rises  in  a  brighter  birth. 
And  sounds  redemption  to  the  Greeks. 

It  is  the  classick  jubilee — 
Their  servile  years  have  rolled  away ; 
The  clouds  that  hovered  o'er  them  flee, 
They  hail  the  dawn  of  freedom's  day ; 
From  Heaven  the  golden  light  descends, 
The  times  of  old  are  on  the  wing, 
And  glory  there  her  pinion  bends, 
And  beauty  wakes  a  fairer  spring  ; 
The  hills  of  Greece,  her  rocks,  her  waves-, 
Are  all  in  triumph's  pomp  arrayed  ; 
A  light  that  points  their  tyrants'  graves, 
Plays  round  each  bold  Athenian's  blade, 


Lesson  56.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  143 

The  Parthenon,  the  sacred  shrine, 
Where  wisdom  held  her  pure  abode : 
The  hill  of  Mars,  where  light  divine 
Proclaimed  the  true,  but  unknown  God ; 
Where  justice  held  unyielding  sway, 
And  trampled  all  corruption  down, 
And  onward  took  her  lofty  way. 
To  reach  at  truth's  unfading  crown  : 
The  rock,  where  liberty  was  full, 
Where  eloquence  her  torrents  rolled, 
And  loud,  against  the  despot's  rule, 
A  knell  the  patriot's  fury  tolled. 


Wm^ 


The  stage,  whereon  the  drama  spake, 

In  tones,  that  seemed  the  words  of  Heaven, 

Which  made  the  wretch  in  terrour  shake, 

As  by  avenging  furies  driven  : 

The  groves  and  gardens,  where  the  fire 

Of  wisdom,  as  a  fountain,  burned. 

And  every  eye,  that  dared  aspire 

To  truth,  has  long  in  worship  turned  : 

The  halls  and  porticoes,  where  trod 

The  moral  sage,  severe,  unstained. 

And  where  the  intellectual  God 

In  all  the  light  of  science  reigned. 

The  schools,  where  rose  in  symmetry 
The  simple,  but  majestick  pile. 
Where  marble  threw  its  roughness  by. 
To  glow,  to  frown,  to  weep,  to  smile. 
Where  colours  made  the  canvass  live. 
Where  musick  rolled  her  flood  along. 
And  all  the  charms,  that  art  can  give. 
Were  blent  with  beauty,  love,  and  song : 
The  port,  from  whose  capacious  w^omb 
Her  navies  took  their  conquering  road. 
The  heralds  of  an  awful  doom 
To  all,  who  would  not  kiss  her  rod. 

On  these  a  dawn  of  glory  springs, 
These  trophies  of  her  brightest  fame  ; 
Away  the  long  chained  city  flings 
Her  weeds,  her  shackles,  and  her  shame  ; 


144  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  57. 

Again  her  ancient  souls  awake, 
Harmodius  bares  anew  his  sword  ; 
Her  sons  in  wrath  their  fetters  break, 
And  freedom  is  their  only  lord. 


LESSON  LVIL 

The  Flight  and  Death  of  Rodolph — Pinkney. 

While  Hope  attends  her  sacred  fire, 

All  joy  rejoices  in  its  pyre  ; 

Once  quenched,  what  ray  the  flame  renews  ? 

Wiiat  but  calamity  ensues  1 

When  ill  report  disgraced  his  name, 

And  turned  to  infamy  his  fame. 

Bearing  from  home  his  blighted  prime, 

He  journeyed  to  some  distant  clime, 

Where  babbling  rumour  could  not  trace 

His  footsteps  to  a  resting  place. 

Mean  while,  the  quest  of  happiness 

He  made,  despairing  of  success  ; 

Unhoped,  but  not  pursued  the  less, 

It  urged  around  the  world  its  flight 

Away  from  him,  like  day  from  night. 

There  are,  who  deem  of  misery 

As  if  it  ever  craved  to  die : 

They  err ;  the  full  of  soul  regard, 

More  than  the  calm,  their  graves  with  hate  ; 

The  loss  of  such  a  life  is  hard, 

And,  ending  their  eventful  fate. 

From  so  much  into  nothing  must 

The  change  be  pain — from  this  to  dust ! — 

To  fill  the  chasms  of  the  breast, 

'Tis  happiness  they  feeek,  not  rest ; 

Wishing  for  something  to  amend 

Existence,  they  must  shun  its  end  ; 

And  this  the  princely  will  betrays 

To  many  sufferings  and  days, 


Lesson  57.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  tm 

How  feels  the  guiltless  dreamer,  who, 

With  idly  curious  gaze. 

Has  let  his  mind's  glance  wander  through 

The  relicks  of  past  days  ? — 

As  feels  the  pilgrim  that  has  scanned, 

Within  their  skirting  wall. 

The  moon-lit  marbles  of  some  grand 

Disburied  capital ; 

Masses  of  whiteness  and  of  gloom, 

The  darkly  bright  remains 

Of  desolate  palace,  empty  tomb, 

And  desecrated  fanes  :- — 

For  in  the  ruins  of  old  hours, 

Remembrance  haply  sees 

Temples,  and  tombs,  and  palaces, 

Not  different  from  these. 

But  such  mere  musings  could  not  now 
Move  Rodolph's  lip,  or  curl  his  brow : 
His  countenance  had  lost  its  free 
And  former  fine  transparency, 
Nor  would,  as  once,  his  spirit  pass 
Its  fleshly  mask,  like  light  through  glass. 
In  his  sad  aspect  seemed  to  be 
Troubled  reflections  of  a  life. 
Nourished  by  passion,  spent  in  strife — 
Gleams,  as  of  drowned  antiquity, 
From  cities  underneath  the  sea, 
Which  glooms  in  famous  Galilee, 

In  the  calm  scene  he  viewed  was  aught., 

That  might  disturb  a  froward  thought  ? 

He  saw,  new  married  to  the  air, 

The  tranquil,  waveless  deep, 

Reposing  in  a  night  as  fair 

As  woman's  softest  sleep  : 

Peaceful  and  silent,  were  met  all 

The  elements  in  festival. 

And  the  wide  universe  seemed  to  be 

One  clear  obscure  transparency. 

Could  such  a  quiet  Fancy  wake^ 
And  doth  she  from  her  slumbers  break. 
13 


m 


I4fi  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  57. 

As  drowsy  mortals  often  will, 

When  lamps  go  out,  or  clocks  fall  still  ? 

No  less  than  when  the  Wind-God's  breath 

Blackens  the  wilderness  beneath, 

Until  contrasted  stars  blaze  bright 

With  their  own  proper  heavenly  light, 

And  almost  make  the  gazer  sigh, 

For  our  unseen  mythology. 

Motion  or  rest,  a  sound,  a  glance, 

Alike  rouse  memory  from  its  trance. 

Perhaps,  presentiment  of  ill 
Might  shake  him — hearts  are  prophets  still . 
What  though  the  fount  of  Castaly 
Not  now  stains  leaves  with  prophecy  ? — 
What  though  are  of  another  age 
Omens,  and  Sibyl's  boding  page  ? — 
Augurs  and  oracles  resign 
Their  voices — fear  can  still  divine  : 
Dreams  and  hand  writings  on  the  wall 
Need  not  foretell  our  fortune's  fall ; 
Domitian  in  his  galleries, 
The  soul  all  hostile  advents  sees. 
As  in  the  mirror  stone  ; 
Like  shadows  by  a  brilliant  day 
Cast  down  from  falcons  on  their  prey  ; 
Or  watery  demons,  in  stix)ng  light. 
By  haunted  waves  of  fountains  old. 
Shown  indistinctly  to  the  sight 
Of  the  inquisitive  and  bold. 
The  mind  is  capable  to  show- 
Thoughts  of  so  dim  a  feature, 
That  consciousness  can  only  know 
Their  presence,  not  their  nature  ; 
Things,  which,  like  fleeting  insect  mothers. 
Supply  recording  life  to  others, 
And  forthwith  lose  their  own. 

H^  backed  his  steed,  and  took  his  way 
Where  a  large  cemetery  lay. 
Beaming  beneath  the  star-light  gay, 
A  white  spot  in  the  greenery, 
Semblant  of  what  it  well  might  be — 


Lesson  58.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE  147 

A  blossom  unto  which  the  earth, 
As  a  spring  favour,  yielded  birth. 
They  looked  for  his  return  in  vain  ; 
Homeward  he  never  rode  again. 

What  boots  it  to  protract  the  verse, 
In  which  his  story  I  rehearse  ? — 
He  had  won  safely  through  the  past, 
The  growing  sickness  smote  at  last : 
His  vassals  found  him  on  the  morn, 
Senseless  beside  his  lady's  urn  ; 
And  they  beheld  with  wonderment 
His  visage — like  a  bow  unbent, 
From  the  distorting  mind  unstrung, 
By  painful  thought  no  longer  wrung, 
It  offered  once  more  to  their  gaze 
The  cheerful  mien  of  former  days, 
And  on  it  the  fixt  smile  had  place. 
Which  lights  the  Memnon's  marble  face. 


LESSON  LVIII. 

Siege   of   Yorktoivn   and   surrender   of  Lord  Cornwallis, 
178L — Ramsay. 

In  the  latter  end  of  August,  the  American  army  began 
their  march  to  Virginia,  from  the  neighbourhood  of  New 
York.  Washington  had  advanced  as  far  as  Chester,  before 
he  received  the  news  of  the  arrival  of  the  fleet  commanded 
by  M.  de  Grasse.  The  French  troops  marched  at  the  same 
time,  and  for  the  same  place.  General  Washington  and 
Count  Rochambeau,  with  Generals  Chastelleux,  du  Portail, 
and  Knox,  proceeded  to  visit  Count  de  Grasse,  on  board  his 
ship,  the  Ville  de  Paris,  and  agreed  on  a  plan  of  operations. 

The  Count  afterwards  wrote  to  Washington,  that  in  case  a 
British  fleet  appeared,  *'  he  conceived  that  he  ought  to  go  out 
and  meet  them  at  sea,  instead  of  risking  an  engagement  in  a 
confined  situation."  This  alarmed  the  General.  He  sent  the 
Marquis  de  la  Fayette,  with  a  letter  to  dissuade  him  from  the 
dangerous  measure.  This  letter,  and  the  persuasions  of  the 
Marquis,  had  the  desired  effect. 


148  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  58. 

The  combined  forces  proceeded  on  their  way  to  Yorktown, 
partly  by  land,  and  partly  down  the  Chesapeake.  The  whole, 
together  with  a  body  of  Virginia  militia,  under  the  command 
of  General  Nelson,  rendezvoused  at  Williamsburg,  on  the 
25th  of  September,  and  in  five  days  after,  moved  down  to  the 
investiture  of  Yorktown.  The  French  fleet,  at  the  same 
time,  moved  to  the  mouth  of  York  river,  and  took  a  position, 
which  was  calculated  to  prevent  Lord  Cornwallis  either  from 
retreating,  or  receiving  succour  by  water.  Previously  to  tlie 
march  from  Williamsburg  to  Yorktown,  AVashington  gave 
out  in  general  orders  as  follows.  '*  If  the  enemy  should  be 
tempted  to  meet  the  army  on  its  march,  the  General  particu- 
larly enjoins  the  troops,  to  place  their  principal  reliance  on 
the  bayonet,  that  they  may  prove  the  vanity  of  the  boast, 
which  the  British  make  of  their  particular  prowess,  in  decid- 
ing battles  with  that  weapon." 

The  works  erected  for  the  security  of  Yorktown 
right,  were  redoubts  and  batteries,  with  a  line  of  stock| 
the  rear.  A  marshy  ravine  lay  in  front  of  the  rigly 
which  was  placed  a  large  redoubt.  The  morass  extended 
along  the  centre,  which  was  defended  by  a  line  of  stockade, 
and  by  batteries.  On  the  left  of  the  centre  was  a  hornwork, 
with  a  ditch,  a  row  of  fraize,  and  an  abbatis.  Two  redoubts 
were  advanced  before  the  left.  The  combined  forces  ad- 
vanced, and  took  possession  of  the  ground,  from  which  the 
British  had  retired. 

About  this  time  the  legion  cavalry  and  mounted  infantry 
passed  over  the  river  to  Gloucester.  General  de  Choisy  in- 
vested the  British  jmdsi  on  tliat  side  so  fully,  as  to  cut  off  all 
communication  between  it  and  the  country.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  royal  army  was  straining  every  nerve  to  strengthen 
their  works,  and  their  artillery  was  constantly  employed  iqi 
impeding  the  operations  of  the  combined  army.  On  the  9th 
and  10th  of  October,  the  Americans  and  French  opened  their 
batteries.  They  kept  up  a  brisk  and  well  directed  fire  from 
heavy  cannon,  from  mortars,  and  howitzers.  The  shells  of 
the  besiegers,  reached  the  ships  in  the  harbour  ;  the  Charon, 
of  forty-four  guns,  and  a  transport  ship,  were  burned. 

The  besiegers  commenced  their  second  parallel  two  hun- 
dred yards  from  the  works  of  the  besieged.  Two  redoubts, 
which  were  advanced  on  the  left  of  the  British,  greatly  im- 
peded the  progress  of  the  combined  armies.  It  was,  there- 
fore, proposed,  to  carry  them  by  storm.  To  excite  a  spirit 
of  emulation,  the  ^eductio^  of  the  one  was  committed  to  the 


nope  1 
^^ng  an 

■I' 


Lesson  5S.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  149 

French,  of  the  other  to  the  Americans.  The  assailants 
marched  to  the  assault  with  unloaded  arms  ;  having  passed 
the  abbatis  and  palisades,  they  attacked  on  all  sides,  and  car- 
ried the  redoubt  in  a  few  minutes,  with  the  loss  of  eight  men 
killed,  and  twenty-eight  wounded. 

The  French  were  equally  successful  on  their  part.  They 
carried  the  redoubt  assigned  to  them,  with  rapidity,  but  lost 
a  considerable  number  of  men.  These  two  redoubts  were 
included  in  the  second  parallel,  and  facilitated  the  subsequent 
operations  of  the  besiegers. 

By  this  time,  the  batteries  of  the  besiegers,  were  covered 
with  nearly  a  hundred  pieces  of  heavy  ordnance,  and  the 
works  of  the  besieged  were  so  damaged,  that  they  could 
scarcely  show  a  single  gun.  Lord  Cornwallis  had  now  no 
hope  left,  but  from  offering  terms  of  capitulation,  or  attempt- 
ng_an  escape.  He  determined  on  the  latter. 
"^^  bis,  though  less  practicable  than  when  first  proposed,  was 
"together  hopeless.  Boats  were  prepared  to  receive  the 
_  _  5  in  the  night,  and  to  transport  them  to  Gloucester  point. 

fter  one  whole  embarcation  had  crossed,  a  violent  storm  of 
wind  and  rain  dispersed  the  boats,  and  frustrated  the  w^hole 
scheme.  The  royal  army,  thus  weakened  by  division,  was 
exposed  to  increased  danger.  Orders  were  sent  to  those 
who  had  passed,  to  recross  the  river  to  Yorktown. 

With  the  failure  of  this  scheme,  the  last  hope  of  the  British 
army  expired.  Longer  resistance  could  answer  no  good  pur- 
pose, and  might  occasion  the  loss  of  many  valuable  lives. 
Lord  Cornwallis,  therefore,  wrote  a  letter  to  General  Wash- 
ington, requesting  a  cessation  of  arms  for  twenty-four  hours  ; 
and  that  commissioners  might  be  appointed  to  digest  terms 
of  capitulation. 

This  was  agreed  to,  and  in  consequence  thereof,  the  posts 
of  York  and  Gloucester,  were  surrendered  on  certain  stipu- 
lations ;  the  principal  of  which  were  as  follows.  "  The 
troops  to  be  prisoners  of  war  to  Congress,  and  the  naval  force 
to  France  ;  the  officers  to  retain  their  side  arms,  and  private 
property  of  every  kind,  but  every  thing  obviously  belonging 
to  the  inhabitants  of  the  United  States,  to  be  subject  to  be 
reclaimed ;  the  soldiers  to  be  kept  in  Virginia,  Maryland, 
and  Pennsylvania,  and  to  be  supplied  with  the  same  rations 
as  are  allowed  to  soldiers  in  the  service  of  Congress  :  a  pro- 
portion of  the  officers  to  march  into  the  country  with  the 
prisoners,  the  rest  to  be  allowed  to  proceed  on  parole  to  Eu- 
13* 


150  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  6S. 

rope,  to  New  York,  or  to  any  other  American  maritime  post 
in  possession  of  the  British." 

The  honour  of  marching  out,  with  colours  flying,  which 
had  been  refused  to  General  Lincoln,  on  his  giving  up 
Charleston,  was  now  refused  to  Earl  Cornwallis :  and  Gene- 
ral Lincoln  was  appointed  to  receive  the  submission  of  the 
royal  army  at  Yorktown,  precisely  in  the  same  way  his  own 
had  been  conducted,  about  eighteen  months  before. 

The  regular  troops  of  America  and  France,  employed  in 
this  siege,  consisted  of  about  five  thousand  five  hundred,  of 
the  former,  and  seven  thousand  of  the  latter,  and  they  were 
assisted  by  about  four  thousand  militia.  On  the  part  of  the 
combined  army,  about  three  hundred  were  killed  or  wound- 
ed. On  the  part  of  the  British,  about  five  hundred,  and  sev- 
enty were  taken  in  the  redoubts,  which  were  carried  by 
assault,  on  the  14th  of  October.  The  troops  of  every  kini" 
that  surrendered  prisoners  of  war,  exceeded  seven  thoui 
men  ;  but  so  great  was  the  number  of  sick  and  woui 
that  there  were  only  three  thousand  eight  hundred,  ca* 
of  bearing  arms. 

Congress  honoured  General  Washington,  Count  de  Roch- 
ambeau,  Count  de  Grasse,  and  the  ofiicers  of  the  different 
corps,  and  the  men  under  them,  with  tlianks  for  their  ser- 
vices in  the  reduction  of  Lord  Cornwallis.  The  whole  pro- 
ject was  conceived  with  profound  wisdom,  and  the  incidents 
of  it  had  been  combined  with  singular  propriety.  It  is  not 
therefore  wonderful,  that  from  the  remarkable  coincidence 
in  all  its  parts,  it  was  crowned  with  unvaried  success. 

General  Washington,  on  the  day  after  the  surrender,  order- 
ed, *'  that  those  who  were  under  arrest,  should  be  pardoned 
and  set  at  liberty."  His  orders  closed  as  follows.  ''  Divine 
service  shall  be  performed  tomorrow  in  the  different  brigades 
and  divisions.  The  commander-in-chief  recommends  that 
all  the  troops,  that  are  not  upon  duty,  do  assist  at  it  with  a 
serious  deportment,  and  that  sensibility  of  heart,  which  the 
recollection  of  the  surprizing  and  particular  interposition  of 
Providence  in  our  favour,  claims."  The  interesting  event 
of  captivating  a  second  royal  army,  produced  strong  emotions, 
which  broke  out  in  all  the  variety  of  ways,  in  which  the  most 
rapturous  joy  usually  displays  itself. 


ed   by 
kin^^^ 


m 


Lesson  59.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  151 

LESSON  LIX. 

The  Neio   Year. — Salmagundi. 

In  this  season  of  festivity,  when  the  gate  of  time  swings 
open  on  its  hinges,  and  an  honest,  rosy-faced  New- Year, 
comes  waddling  in,  like  a  jolly  fat-sided  alderman,  loaded 
with  good  wishes,  good  humour,  and  minced  pies  ; — at  this 
joyous  era,  it  has  been  the  custom,  from  time  immemorial,  in 
this  ancient  and  respectable  city,*  for  periodical  writers,  from 
reverend,  grave,  and  potent  essayists  like  ourselves  !  down  to 
the  humble,  but  industrious  editors  of  magazines,  reviews, 
and  newspapers,  to  tender  their  subscribers  the  compliments 
of  the  season  ;  and  when  they  have  slily  thawed  their  hearts 
with  a  little  of  the  sunshine  of  flattery,  to  conclude  by  deli- 
cately dunning  them  for  their  arrears  of  subscription  money. 

In  like  manner  the  carriers  of  newspapers,  who  undoubt- 
ijJiy  belong  to  the  ancient  and  honourable  order  of  literati^ 
do  regularly  at  the  commencement  of  the  year,  salute  their 
patrons  with  abundance  of  excellent  advice,  conveyed  in  ex- 
ceeding good  poetry,  for  which  the  aforesaid  good  natured 
patrons  are  well  pleased  to  pay  them  exactly  twenty-five 
cents. 

In  walking  the  streets,  I  am  every  day  saluted  with  good 
wishes  from  old  grey-headed  negroes,  whom  I  never  recollect 
to  have  seen  before  ;  and,  it  was  but  a  few  days  ago,  that  I 
was  called  out  to  receive  the  compliments  of  an  ugly  old  wo- 
man, who,  last  spring,  was  employed  by  Mrs.  Cockloft  to  white- 
wash my  room  and  put  things  in  order  ;  a  phrase,  which,  if 
rightly  understood,  means  little  else  than  huddling  every 
thing  into  holes  and  corners,  so  that  if  I  want  to  find  any 
particular  article,  it  is,  in  the  language  of  an  humble  but  ex- 
pressive saying, — "  looking  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack."  Not 
recognizing  my  visitor,  I  demanded  by  what  authority  she 
wished  me  a  "  Happy  New- Year  ?"  Her  claim  was  one  of 
the  weakest  she  could  have  urged,  for  I  have  an  innate  and 
mortal  antipathy  to  this  custom  of  putting  things  to  rights  ; — 
so  giving  the  old  witch  a  pistareen,  I  desired  her  forthwith 
to  mount  her  broomstick  and  ride  off  as  fast  as  possible. 

Of  all  the  various  ranks  of  society,  the  bakers  alone,  to 
their  immortal  honour  be  it  recorded,  depart  from  this  prac- 
tice of  making  a  market  of  congratulations  ;  and,  in  addition 

*  New  York, 


152  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  50. 

to  always  allowing  thirteen  to  the  dozen,  do  with  great  liber- 
ality, instead  of  diawing  on  the  purses  of  their  customers  at 
the  New-Year,  present  them  with  divers  large,  fair,  spiced 
cakes;  which,  like  the  shield  of  Achilles,  or  an  Egyptian 
obelisk,  are  adorned  with  figures  of  a  variety  of  strange  ani- 
nyils,  that,  in  their  conformation,  out-marvel  all  the  wild  won- 
ders of  nature. 

This  honest  grey-beard  custom  of  setting  apart  a  certain 
portion  of  this  good-for-nothing  existence,  for  purposes  of 
cordiality,  social  merriment,  and  good  cheer,  is  one  of  the 
inestimable  relicks,  handed  down  to  us  from  our  worthy 
Dutch  ancestors.  In  perusing  one  of  the  manuscripts  from 
my  worthy  grandfather's  mahogany  chest  of  drawers,  I  find 
the  new  year  was  celebrated  with  great  festivity  during  that 
golden  age  of  our  city,  when  the  reins  of  government  were 
held  by  the  renowned  Rip  Van  Dam,  who  always  did  honour 
to  the  season  by  seeing  out  the  old  year  ;  a  ceremony,  wh 
consisted  in  plying  his  guests  with  bumpers,  until  not  oj 
of  them  was  capable  of  seeing.  "^ 

"  Truly,"  observes  my  grandfather,  who  was  generally  of 
these  parties — "  Truly,  he  was  a  most  stately  and  magnificent 
burgomaster  !  inasmuch,  as  he  did  right  lustily  carouse  it 
with  his  friends  about  new-year  ;  roasting  huge  quantities  of 
turkies  ;  baking  innumerable  minced  pies  ;  and  smacking 
the  lips  of  all  fair  ladies  the  which  he  did  meet,  with  such 
sturdy  emphasis,  that  the  same  might  have  been  heard  the 
distance  of  a  stone's  throw.'' 

In  his  days,  according  to  my  grandfather,  were  first  invent- 
ed those  notable  cakes,  hight  new-year-cookies,  which  origi- 
nally were  impressed,  on  one  side,  with  the  honest  burly 
countenance  ot  the  illustrious  Rip  ;  and,  on  the  other,  with 
that  of  the  noted  St.  Nicholas,  vulgarly  called  Santaclaus  ; — 
of  all  the  saints  in  the  calendar,  the  most  venerated  by  true 
Hollanders,  and  their  unsophisticated  descendants.  These 
cakes,  are  to  this  time,  given  on  the  first  of  January,  to  all 
visitors,  together  with  a  glass  of  cherry-bounce,  or  raspberry- 
brandy.  It  is,  with  great  regret,  however,  I  observe  that  the 
simplicity  of  this  venerable  usage  has  been  much  violated 
by  modern  pretenders  to  style  !  and  our  respectable  new- 
year-cookies,  and  cherry-bounce,  elbowed  aside  by  plumb 
cake  and  outlandish  liqueurs,  in  the  same  way  that  our  worthy 
old  Dutch  families  are  out-dazzled  by  modern  upstarts,  and 
mushroom  cockneys. 

In  addition  to  this  divine  origin  of  new-year  festivity,  there 


our 


Lessm  60.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  153 

is  something  exquisitely  grateful,  to  a  good  natured  mind,  in 
seeing  every  face  dressed  in  smiles  ; — in  hearing  the  oft  re- 
peated salutations  that  flow  spontaneously  from  the  heart  to 
the  lips  ; — in  beholding  the  poor,  for  once,  enjoying  the 
smiles  of  plenty,  and  forgetting  the  cares  which  press  hard 
upon  them,  in  the  jovial  revelry  of  the  feelings  ; — the  young 
children  decked  out  in  their  Sunday  clothes,  and  freed  from 
their  only  cares,  the  cares  of  the  school,  tripping  through  the 
streets  on  errands  of  pleasure  ; — and  even  the  very  negroes, 
those  holiday-loving  rogues,  gorgeously  arrayed  in  cast-off 
finery,  collected  in  juntoes  at  corners,  displaying  their  white 
teeth,  and  making  the  welkin  ring  with  bursts  of  laughter, — 
loud  enough  to  crack  even  the  icy  cheek  of  old  winter. 

There  is  something  so  pleasant  in  all  this,  that  I  confess, 
it  would  give  me  real  pain,  to  behold  the  frigid  influence  of 
modern  style  cheating  us  of  this  jubilee  of  the  heart ;  and, 
^.converting  it,  as  it  does  every  other  article,  of  social  inter- 
^course,  into  an  idle  and  unmeaning  ceremony.  It  is  the 
annual  festival  of  good  humour  ; — it  comes  in  the  dead  of 
winter,  when  nature  is  without  a  charm,  when  our  pleasures 
are  contracted  to  the  fire-side,  and  where  every  thing  that 
unlocks  the  icy  fetters  of  the  heart,  and  sets  the  genial  cur- 
rent flowing,  should  be  cherished,  as  a  stray  lamb,  found 
in  the  wilderness  ;  or  a  flower  blooming  among  thorns  and 
briers. 


LESSON  LX. 

Indian   Warfare. — \V e b  r,  e k  . 

Where  the  wild  Indian  prowled  on  Erie's  shore 
Or  heard  Niagara's  falling  waters  roar  ; 
Where  Mississippi  rolls  his  mighty  tide, 
Father  of  waters,  in  majestick  pride, 
How  often  have  the  forest  echoes  rung 
To  the  wild  warhoop  from  the  warriour*s  tongue. 
In  night's  still,  lonely  hour,  when  sleep  had  spread 
Her  poppied  mantle  o'er  the  white  man's  head, 
Around  his  cabin  burst  their  horrid  cries, 
And  chased  the  slumbers  of  his  weary  eyes. 

Bright  o'er  his  little  home,  to  flames  consigned. 
Rolled  the  fierce  blaze  upon  the  midnight  wind ; 


154  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  60. 

His  infant  from  his  cradle-sleep  awoke 
To  feel  the  tomahawk's  descending  stroke  ; 
His  wife  sunk  bleeding  at  her  husband's  side  : 
The  aged  grandsire  on  his  hearthstone  died  ; 
The  sad  surviver,  forced  awhile  to  bear 
The  load  of  life,  the  anguish  of  despair, 
The  utter  hopelessness,  whose  dreadful  gloom 
Disparted  only  at  the  burning  tomb  ; 
Waa»led  away  to  prove  their  savage  skill, 
With  writhing  nature's  utmost  pangs  to  kill, 
To  make  the  victim  feel,  in  lifers  last  hour, 
O'er  the  frail  flesh  pain's  agonizing  f)ower, 
Extremest  torture's  racking  force  to  try, 
And  feel  in  dying,  what  it  is  to  die. 

Spirit  of  Mercy  !  whose  far  wandering  voice 
Has  bid  the  ocean's  farthest  isles  rejoice. 
And  sent  thy  heralds  o'er  the  rolling  waves, 
Amidst  Idolatry's  benighted  slaves 
To  preach  that  gospel,  in  whose  holy  strain 
Peace,  Lov^  and  Charity  forever  reign  ; 
Oh  !  can  i#be,  that  deeds  like  these  have  found 
A  voice  of  sanction  upon  christian  ground  ! 
That  where  the  Sun  of  Mercy's  beams  have  glowed, 
And  limpid  streams  of  christian  knowledge  flowed, 
War's  hateful  use  should  so  corrupt  the  heart,    ♦ 
Destroy  the  feelings,  man's  more  noble  part, 
That  he  should  wish  against  his  fellow  men 
To  rouse  the  savage  from  his  gloomy  den  ! 

Oh,  Britain  !  throned  amidst  the  rolling  sen. 
Whose  proudest  boast  is  that  thy  sons  are  free, 
That  on  thy  shore  each  wandering  wretch  may  find. 
Safe  from  the  tumults  that  convulse  mankind, 
A  place  of  rest ;  that  Justice  rules  thy  land. 
And  Truth  and  Mercy  at  her  footstool  stand  ; 
Oh  !  thou  hast  heard  within  thy  princely  halls, 
Within  thy  senate's  consecrated  walls. 
The  impious  voice,  that  on  the  western  world 
The  fiery  brands  of  Indian  vengeance  hurled. 

Then  thy  stern  statesmen  reared  oppression's  mace. 
To  crush  with  war's  strong  hand  their  kindred  race  : 


m> 


Lesson  61.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  155 

Roused  the  red  warriours  from  their  woodland  glades, 
From  the  dark  forest's  deep  and  tangled  shades, 
With  every  horrour  savage  war  could  bring, 
Fell  as  the  crouching  cougar's  fatal  spring, 
To  rush  upon  the  homes  where  brethren  dwelt, 
Where  christians  to  their  God  in  worship  knelt, 
To  kill  and  burn,  to  plunder  and  destroy. 
And  leave  in  ruins  what  they  found  in  joy. 

Men  too,  were  found,  who  boldly  dared  to  plead, 

In  day's  broad  light,  in  sanction  of  the  deed  ; 

With  impious  breath,  to  use  their  Maker's  name, 

And  call  on  God  to  justify  their  shame. 

Vainly  opposed,  the  tongue  of  Chatham  spoke, 

And  from  his  lips  indignant  thunders  broke  ; 

'Twas  done.     O,  Britain  !  on  thy  name  a  blot 
^      That  day  was  cast,  a  dark  and  dreadful  spot, 
^      And  rolling  ages  shall  essay  in  vain 

To  bleach  thy  glory  from  the  crimson  stain. 

Yet  not  with  anger  does  our  memory  dwell, 
Upon  thy  fault,  nor  do  we  joy  to  tell ; 
We  too,  have  sinned,  and  conscious  of  our  shame, 
Dare  not  the  guilt  as  thine  alone  to  blame  ; 
But  sorrowing  for  ourselves,  and  in  our  breast 
Bearing  thy  many  nobler  deeds  imprest. 
Fain  would  we  treat  it  as  *'  the  good  man's  sin, 
Weep  to  record,  and  blush  to  give  it  in." 


LESSON  LXI. 

Stage   Coach  adventure,   of  Mr.   Geoffrey  Crayon   in  Eng-^ 
land. — Washington  Irving. 

It  was  late  in  the  month  of  December,  that  I  was  making 
a  tour  in  Yorkshire,  in  the  course  of  which,  I  rode  for  a 
long  distance  in  one  of  the  publick  coaches,  on  the  day  pre- 
ceding Christmas.  The  coach  was  crowded,  both  inside  and 
out,  with  passengers,  who,  from  their  talk,  seemed  principal- 
ly bound  to  the  mansions  of  relations  or  friends,  to  eat  the 
Christmas  dinner.  It  W3s  loaded,  also,  with  hampers  and 
game,  and  baskets  and  boxes  of  delicacies ;  and  hares  hung 


156  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  61. 

dangliog  their  long  ears  about  the  coachman's  box,  presents 
from  distant  friends,  for  the  impending  feast. 

I  had  three  fine  rosy  cheeked  school  boys,  for  my  fellow 
passengers  inside,  full  of  the  buxom  health  and  manly  spirit, 
which  I  have  observed  in  the  children  in  this  country.  They 
were  returning  home  for  the  holidays,  in  high  glee,  and 
promising  themselves  a  world  of  enjoyment.  It  was  delight- 
i'ul  to  hear  the  gigantick  plans  of  pleasure  of  the  little  rogues, 
and  the  impracticable  feats  they  were  to  perform,  during  their 
six  week's  emaneipatioa  from  the  abhorred  thraldom  of  book, 
birch,  and  pedagogue. 

They  were  full  of  anticipations  of  the  meeting  with  the 
family  and  household,  down  to  tlie  very  cat  and  dog,  and  of 
the  joy  they  were  to  give  their  little  sisters  by  the  presents, 
with  which  their  pockets  were  crammed  ;  but  the  meeting  to 
which  they  seemed  to  look  forward  with  the  greatest  impa- 
tience, was  with  BaBtam,  which  I  found  to  be  a  pony,  and. 
according  to  their  talk,  possessed  of  more  virtues  than  any*^ 
steed  since  tlie  days  of  Bucephalus.  How  he  could  trot ! 
how  he  could  run  !  and  then  such  leaps  as  he  would  take — 
there  was  not  a  hedge  in  the  whole  country,  that  he  could 
not  clear. 

Thoy  were  under  the  particular  guardianship  of  the  coach- 
man, to  whom,  whenever  an  opportunity  presented,  they  ad-  , 
dressed  a  liost  of  questions,  and  pronounced  him  one  of  the 
best  fellows  in  the  whole  world.  Indeed,  I-  could  not  but 
notice  the  more  than  ordinary  din  of  bustle  and  importance 
of  the  coachman,  who  wore  his  hat  a  little  of  one  side,  and 
had  a  large  bunch  of  Christmas  greens  stuck  in  the  button- 
hole of  his  coat.  He  is  always  a  personage  full  of  mighty 
care  and  business,  but  he  is  particularly  so,  during  this  sear 
son,  having  so  many  commissions  to  execute,  in  consequence 
of  the  great  interchange  of  presents. 

And  here,  perhaps,  it  may  not  be  unacceptable  to  my  un- 
travelled  readers,  to  have  a  sketch,  that  may  serve  as  a  general 
representation  of  this  very  numerous  and  important  class  of 
functionaries,  for  they  have  a  dress,  a  manner,  a  language,  an 
air,  peculiar  to  themselves,  and  prevalent  throughout  the  fra- 
ternity, so  that,  wherever  an  English  stage  coachman  may  be 
seen,  he  cannot  be  mistaken  for  one  of  any  other  craft  or 
mystery. 

He  has  commonly  a  broad,  full  face,  curiously  mottled  with 
red,  as  if  the  blood  had  been  forced  by  hard  feeding,  into 
every  vessel  of  the  skin ;  he  is  swelled  into  jolly  dimen^wwB 


Lesson  61.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  157 

by  frequent  potations  of  malt  liquors,  and  his  bulk  is  still 
further  increased  by  a  multiplicity  of  coats  ;  in  which  he  is 
buried  like  a  cauliflower,  the  upper  one  reaching  to  his  heels. 
He  wears  a  broad  brimmed,  low  crowned  hat,  a  huge  roll  of 
coloured  handkerchief  about  his  neck,  knowingly  knotted 
and  tucked  in  at  the  bosom,  and  in  summer  time,  has  a  large 
bouquet  of  flowers  in  his,  button-hole,  the  present,  most  pro- 
bably, of  some  enamoured  country  lass.  His  waistcoat  is 
commonly  of  some  bright  colour,  striped,  and  his  small-clothes 
extend  far  below  the  knees,  to  meet  a  pair  of  jockey  boots, 
which  reach  about  half  way  up  his  legs. 

All  this  costume  is  maintained  with  much  precision  ;  he 
has  a  pride  in  having  his  clothes  of  excellent  materials,  and 
notwithstanding  the  seeming  grossness  of  his  appearance, 
there  is  still  discernible,  that  neatness  and  propriety  of  per- 
son, which  is  almost  inherent  in  an  Englishman.  The  mo- 
ment he  arrives  where  the  horses  are  to  be  changed,  he  throws 
'"^down  the  reins  with  something  of  an  air,  and  abandons  the 
cattle  to  the  care  of  the  hostler  ;  his  duty  being  merely  to 
drive  them  from  one  stage  to  another. 

When  off*  the  box,  his  hands  are  thrust  in  the  pockets  of 
his  great  coat,  and  he  rolls  about  the  inn  yard,  with  an  air  of 
the  most  absolute  lordliness.  He  is  generally  surrounded  by 
an  admiring  throng  of  hostlers,  stable-boys,  shoe-blacks,  and 
those  nameless  hangers-on,  that  infest  inns  and  taverns,  and 
run  errands,  and  do  all  kinds  of  odd  jobs,  for  the  privilege 
of  battening  on  the  dripping  of  the  kitchen  and  the  leakage 
of  the  tap  room.  These  all  look  up  to  him  as  an  oracle ; 
treasure  up  his  cant  phrases  ;  echo  his  opinions  about  horses 
and  other  topicks  of  jockey  lore  ;  and  above  all,  endeavour  to 
imitate  his  air  and  carriage.  Every  ragamuffin,  that  has  a 
coat  to  his  back,  thrusts  his  hands  into  the  pockets,  rolls  in 
his  gait,  talks  slang,  and  is  an  embryo  Coachey. 

I  do  not  know  whether  it  was  owing  to  the  pleasing  seren- 
ity, that  reigned  in  my  own  mind,  but  I  fancied  I  saw  cheer- 
fulness in  every  countenance  throughout  the  journey.  A 
stage  coach,  however,  always  carries  animation  with  it,  and 
puts  the  world  in  motion  as  it  whirls  along.  The  horn,  sound- 
ed at  the  entrance  of  a  village,  produces  a  general  bustle. 
Some  hasten  torth  to  meet  friends  ;  some  with  bundles  and 
bandboxes  to  secure  places,  and  in  the  hurry  of  the  moment, 
can  hardly  take  leave  of  the  group,  that  accompanies  them. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  coachman  has  a  world  of  small  com- 
missions to  execute  ;  sometimes  he  delivers  a  hare  or  pheasant ; 
14 


15S  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  61. 

sometimes  jerks  a  small  parcel,  or  newspaper,  to  the  door  of 
a  publick  house,  and  sometimes  with  a  knowing  leer,  and 
words  of  sly  import,  hands  to  some  half  blushing,  half  laugh- 
ing housemaid,  an  odd  shaped  billet-doux,  from  some  rustick 
admirer.  As  the  coach  rattles  through  the  village,  every  one 
runs  to  the  window,  and  you  have  glances  on  every  side,  of 
fresh  country  faces,  and  blooming,  giggling  girls. 

At  the  corners,  are  assembled  juntoes  of  village  idlers  and 
wise  men,  who  take  their  stations  there,  for  the  important 
purpose  of  seeing  company  pass ;  but  the  sagest  knot  is  gen- 
erally at  the  blacksmith's,  to  which,  the  passing  of  the  coach, 
is  an  event,  fruitful  of  much  speculation.  The  smith,  with 
the  horse's  heel  in  his  lap,  pauses  to  look  at  the  passing 
sight;  the  cyclops,  round  the  anvil,  suspend  their  ringing 
hammers,  and  suffer  the  iron  to  grow  cool  ;  and  the  sooty 
spectre  in  brown  paper  cap,  labouring  at  the  bellows,  leans 
on  the  handle  for  a  moment,  and  permits  the  asthmatick  en-  .. 
gine  to  heave  a  long  drawn  sigh  ;  while  he  glares  through 
the  murky  smoke  and  sulpliureous  gleams  of  the  smithy. 

I  was  suddenly  roused  from  a  fit  of  luxurious  meditation, 
by  a  shout  from  my  little  travelling  companions.  They  had 
been  looking  out  of  the  coach  windows  for  the  last  few 
miles ;  recognizing  every  tree  and  cottage,  as  they  approach- 
ed home,  and  now  there  was  a  general  burst  of  joy.  "  There's 
John  !  and  there's  Carlo !  and  there's  Bantam  !"  cried  the 
happy  little  rogues,  clapping  their  hands. 

At  the  head  of  a  lane,  there  was  an  old  sober  looking 
servant  in  livery,  waiting  for  them  ;  he  was  accompanied  by 
a  superannuated  pointer,  and  by  the  redoubtable  Bantam,  a 
little  old  rat  of  a  pony,  with  a  shagged  mane  and  long  rusty 
tail,  who  stood  dozing  quietly  by  the  road  side,  little  dream- 
ing of  the  bustling  times  that  awaited  him. 

I  was  pleased  to  see  the  fondness,  with  which  the  little 
fellows  leaped  about  the  steady  old  footman,  and  hugged  the 
pointer,  who  wriggled  his  whole  body  for  joy.  But  Bantam 
was  the  great  object  of  interest ;  all  wanted  to  mount  at 
once,  and  it  was  with  some  difficulty,  that  John  arranged 
they  should  ride  by  turns,  and  the  eldest  should  ride  first. 

Away  they  set  off  at  last,  one  on  the  pony,  with  the  dog 
bounding  and  barking  before  him,  and  the  others  holding 
John's  hands,  both  talking  at  once,  and  overpowering  him 
with  questions  about  home,  and  with  school  anecdotes.  I 
looked  after  them  with  a  feeling,  in  which  I  do  not  know 
wliether  pleasure  or   melaacholy  most  predominated  ;  for  I 


Lesson  62.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  159 

was  reminded  of  those  days  when,  hke  them,  I  had  neither 
known  care  nor  sorrow,  and  a  holiday  was  the  summit  of 
earthly  felicity.  We  stopped  a  few  minutes  afterwards  to 
water  the  horses  ;  and  on  resuming  our  route,  a  turn  of  the 
road  brought  us  in  sight  of  a  neat  country  seat.  I  could  just 
distinguish  the  forms  of  a  lady  and  two  young  girls  in  the 
portico,  and  I  saw  my  little  comrades,  wath  Bantam,  Carlo, 
and  old  John,  trooping  along  the  carriage  road.  I  leaned 
©ut  of  the  coach  window,  in  hopes  of  witnessing  the  happy 
meeting,  but  a  grove  of  trees  shut  it  from  my  sight. 


LESSON  LXII. 

Character  of  Washington, — U.  S.  Literary  Gazette. 

We  cannot  help  feeling,  strange  as  it  may  seem  to  many, 
and  false  as  it  may  seem  to  some,  that  Washington  is  not  fair- 
ly and  rightly  appreciated  by  his  countrymen.  There  is  a  sort 
of  fashion  of  thinking  him  negatively  rather  than  positively 
great.  No  one  denies  his  reliance  upon  justice  and  right,  his 
courage,  or  his  faith,  in  the  ultimate  prevalence  of  a  good 
cause ;  for  he  jeopardized  fortune,  life,  and  reputation,  in  a 
conflict  between  rebellion,  weak,  poor,  and  almost  resource- 
less,  and  sovereignty,  powerful,  armed,  and  resolute. 

None  doubt  his  integrity  ;  for  all  temptation  man  can  meet, 
was  offered  him,  during  the  war,  by  the  enemy,  and  at  its 
close,  by  every  feeling  of  ambition  and  self-love  in  his  own 
heart,  and  he  was  moved  by  them — less  than  the  summer  breeze 
may  move  an  oak. 

But  his  intellect  was  as  extraordinary  as  his  moral  nature  ; 
its  essential  quality  was  pure  wisdom,  profound,  unerring, 
almost  superhuman ;  and  because  there  was  in  his  mind  no 
effort,  no  turbulence,  nothing  but  the  quietof  unfading  and 
shadowless  light ;  because  he  formed  his  conclusions  and  went 
to  his  results  almost  intuitively,  and  needed  no  collision  with 
other  minds,  to  strike  out  the  light  of  his  own,  his  wondrous 
endowments  were  hardly  known ;  and  there  are,  who  think 
him  a  cold  and  prudent  man,  gifted  with  excellent  temper, 
and  excellent  sense,  but  withal,  possessed  of  no  very  remark- 
able genius. 

Now,  we  speak  not  of  gratitude  due  to  him  ;  of  the  policy 

of  rewarding  such  services  with  high  fame  ;  but  we  advise  all, 

who  dare  to  look  up  and  measure  an  intellect,  which  led  the 


160  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  63. 

destinies  of  this  land,  and  was  the  instrument  chosen  by  God 
to  work  a  nation's  deliverance — we  do  request  them  to'  learn 
to  measure  it  aright ;  to  estimate  its  power  by  its  achievement ; 
and  to  remember  that  in  those  disastrous  days,  when  men  best 
learn  each  other's  nature,  the  best  and  bravest  in  the  land 
bowed  down  before  him,  and  felt  that  it  was  given  to  him  to 
rule,  and  to  them  to  obey. 


LESSON  LXin. 
The  Vision  of  Liberty, — Ware. 

The  evening  heavens  were  calm  and  bright ; 

No  dimness  rested  on  the  glittering  light, 
That  sparkled  from  that  wilderness  of  worlds  on  high. 

Those  distant  suns  burn'd  on  with  quiet  ray ; 

The  placid  planets  held  their  modest  way ; 
And  silence  reign'd  profound  o'er  earth,  and  sea,  and  sky. 

Oh  what  an  hour  for  lofty  thought ! 
My  spirit  burn'd  within  ;  I  caught 
A  holy  inspiration  from  the  hour. 
Around  me  man  and  nature  slept ; 
Alone  my  solemn  watch  I  kept, 
Till  morning  dawn'd,  and  sleep  resumed  her  power. 

A  vision  passed  upon  my  soul. 
I  still  was  gazing  up  to  heaven, 
As  in  the  early  hours  of  even ; 
I  still  beheld  the  planets  roll, 
And  all  those  countless  sons  of  light 
riame  from  the  broad  blue  arch,  and  guide  the  moonless  night. 

When,  lo,  upon  the  plain, 
Just  where  it  skirts  the  swelling  main, 
A  massive  castle,  far  and  high. 
In  towering  grandeur  broke  upon  my  eye. 
Proud  in  its  strength  and  years,  the  pondrous  pile 

Flung  up  its  time  defying  towers ; 
Its  lofty  gates  seem'd  scornfully  to  smile 
At  vain  assault  of  human  powers, 
And  threats  and  arms  deride. 


Lesson  63.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  161 

Its  gorgeous  carvings  of  heraldric  pride  ^ 

In  giant  masses  graced  the  walls  above, 

And  dungeons  yavvn'd  below. 
Yet  ivy  there  and  moss  their  garlands  wove, 
Grave  silent  chroniclers  of  Time's  protracted  flow. 

Bursting  on  my  steadfast  gaze, 

See,  within,  a  sudden  blaze  ! 
So  small  at  first,  the  zephyr's  slightest  swell, 

That  scarcely  stirs  the  pine  tree  top, 

Nor  makes  the  wither' d  leaf  to  drop. 
The  feeble  fluttering  of  that  flame  would  quell. 

But  soon  it  spread — 
Waving,  rushing,  fierce,  and  red. 
From  wall  to  wall,  from  tower  to  tower  ^ 
Raging  with  resistless  power ; 
Till  every  fervent  pillar  glow'd. 

And  every  stone  seem'd  burning  coal. 
Instinct  with  living  heat,  that  flow'd 
Like  streaming  radiance  from  the  kindled  pole. 

Beautiful,  fearful,  grand. 
Silent  as  death,  I  saw  the  fabrick  stand. 
At  length  a  crackling  sound  began  ; 
From  side  to  side,  throughout  the  pile  it  ran  ; 
And  louder  yet,  and  louder  grew. 
Till  now  in  rattling  thunder  peals  it  grew. 
Huge  shiver'd  fragments  from  the  pillars  broke, 
Like  fiery  sparkles  from  the  anvil's  stroke. 
The  shatter'd  walls  were  rent  and  riven, 
And  peacemeal  driven 
Like  blazing  comets  through  the  troubled  sky. 
'Tis  done ;  what  centuries  had  rear'd, 
In  quick  explosion  disappear'd. 
Nor  even  its  ruins  met  my  wondering  eye. 

But  in  their  place, — 
Bright  with  more  than  human  grace, 

Rob'd  in  more  than  mortal  seeming, 
Radiant  glory  in  her  face. 

And  eyes  with  heaven's  own  brightness  beaming ; 
Rose  a  fair  majestic  form. 
As  the  mild  rainbow  from  the  storm. 
14* 


162  CLASS  BOOK  OP  [Lesson  64. 

I  mark'd  her  smile,  I  knew  her  eye ; 
And  when,  with  gesture  of  command, 
She  waved  aloft  the  cap-crown'd  wand, 
My  slumbers  fled  mid  shouts  of  '  Liberty  1' 

Read  ye  the  dream  ?  and  know  ye  not 
How  truly  it  unlock 'd  the  word  of  fate  ? 

Went  not  the  flame  from  this  illustrious  spot, 
And  spreads  it  not,  and  burns  in  every  state  '? 
And  when  their  old  and  cumbrous  walls, 
Fill'd  with  this  spirit,  glow  intense, 
Vainly  they  rear  their  impotent  defence — 
The  fabrick  falls ! 
That  fervent  energy  must  spread. 
Till  despotism's  towers  be  overthrown  ; 
And  in  their  'stead. 
Liberty  stands  alone ! 

Hasten  the  day,  just  Heaven  ! 
Accomplish  thy  design  ; 
And  let  the  blessings  thou  hast  freely  given, 

Freely  on  all  men  shine ; 
Till  equal  rights  be  equally  enjoy'd. 
And  human  power  for  human  good  employ'd  ; 
Till  law,  not  man,  the  sovereign  rule  sustain, 
And  peace  and  virtue  undisputed  reign. 


LESSON  LXIV. 

Conduct  of  General  Lafayette,  in  the  early  part  of  the  French 
Revolution. — Ticknor. 

Lafayette  was,  also,  a  prominent  member  of  the  States- 
General,  which  met  in  1789,  and  assumed  the  name  of  the 
National  Assembly.  He  proposed  in  this  body,  a  declaration 
of  rights,  not  unlike  our  own,  and  it  was  under  his  influence, 
and  while  he  was,  for  this  very  purpose,  in  the  chair,  that  a 
decree  was  passed  on  the  night  of  the  13th  and  14th  of  July, 
at  the  moment  the  Bastille  was  falling  before  the  cannon  of 
the  populace,  which  provided  for  the  responsibility  of  minis- 
ters, and  thus  furnished  one  of  the  most  important  elements 


Lesson  6i.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  163    , 

of  a  representative  monarchy.  Two  days  afterwards,  he  was 
appointed  commander-in-chief  of  the  national  guards  of  Paris, 
and  thus  was  placed  at  the  head  of  what  was  intended  to  be 
made,  when  it  should  be  carried  into  all  the  departments,  the 
efiective  military  power  of  the  realm,  and  what,  under  his  wise 
management,  soon  become  such. 

His  great  military  command,  and  his  still  greater  personal 
influence,  now  brought  him  constantly  in  contact  with  the 
court  and  the  throne.  His  position,  therefore,  was  extremely 
delicate  and  difficult,  especially  as  the  popular  party  in  Paris, 
of  which  he  was  not  so  much  the  head,  as  the  idol,  was  al- 
ready in  a  state  of  perilous  excitement,  and  atrocious  vio- 
lences were  beginning  to  be  committed.  The  abhorrence  of 
the  queen,  was  almost  universal,  and  was  excessive  to  a  de- 
gree, of  which  we  can  now  have  no  just  idea. 

The  circumstance  that  the  court  lived  at  Versailles,  six- 
teen miles  from  Paris,  and  that  the  session  of  the  national  as- 
sembly was  held  there,  was  another  source  of  jealousy,  irrita- 
tion, and  hatred,  on  the  part  of  the  capital.  The  people  of 
Paris,  therefore,  as  a  sign  of  opposition,  had  mounted  their 
municipal  cockade,  of  blue  and  red,  whose  effects  were  al- 
ready becoming  alarming.  Lafayette,  who  was  anxious  about 
the  consequences  of  such  a  marked  division,  and  who  knew 
how  important  are  small  means  of  conciliation,  added  to  it, 
on  the  26th  of  July,  the  white  of  the  royal  cockade,  and  as  he 
placed  it  in  his  own  hat,  amidst  the  acclamations  of  the  mul- 
titude, prophesied,  that  it  ''  would  go  round  the  world  ;"  a 
prediction,  which  is  already  more  than  half  accomplished, 
since  the  tricoloured  cockade  has  been  used  for  the  ensign  of 
emancipation  in  Spain,  in  Naples,  in  some  parts  of  South 
America,  and  in  Greece. 

Still,  however,  the  tendency  of  every  thing  was  to  confu- 
sion and  violence.  The  troubles  of  the  times,  too,  rather  than 
a  positive  want  of  the  means  ofsubsistence,  had  brought  on  a 
famine  in  the  capital ;  and  the  populace  of  the  Fauxbourgs, 
the  most  degraded  certainly  in  France,  having  assembled  and 
armed  themselves,  determined  to  go  to  Versailles ;  the  greater 
part,  with  a  blind  desire  for  vengeance  on  the  royal  family, 
but  others,  only  with  the  purpose  of  bringing  the  king  from 
Versailles,  and  forcing  him  to  reside  in  the  more  ancient  but 
scarcely  habitable  palace  of  the  Thuilleries,  in  the  midst  of 
Paris. 

The  national  guards,  clamoured  to  accompany  this  savage 
multitude ;  Lafayette  opposed  their  inclination  ;  the  munici- 


164  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoii  64. 

pality  of  Paris,  hesitated,  but  supported  it ;  he  resisted  nearly 
the  whole  of  the  5th  of  October,  while  the  road  to  Versailles 
was  already  thronged,  with  an  exasperated  mob,  of  above  an 
hundred  thousand  ferocious  men  and  women,  until,  at  last, 
finding  the  multitude  were  armed,  and  even  had  cannon,  he 
asked,  and  received  an  order  to  march,  from  the  competent 
authority,  and  set  off  at  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  as  one 
going  to  a  post  of  imminent  danger,  which  it  had  clearly  be- 
come his  duty  to  occupy. 

He  arrived  at  Versailles  at  ten  o'clock  at  niglit,  after  having 
been  on  horseback  from  before  daylight  in  the  morning,  and 
having  made,  during  the  whole  interval,  both  at  Paris  and  on 
the  road,  incredible  exertions  to  control  the  multitude,  and 
calm  the  soldiers.  **  The  Marquis  de  Lafayette  at  last  enter- 
ed the  Chateau,"  says  Madame  de  Stael,  ''  and  passing  through 
the  apartment  where  we  were,  went  to  the  king.  We  all 
pressed  round  him,  as  if  he  were  the  master  of  events,  and 
yet  the  popular  party  was  already  more  powerful  than  its  chief, 
and  principles  were  yielding  to  factions,  or  rather  were  begin- 
ning to  serve  only  as  their  pretext." 

'*  M.  de  Lafayette's  manner  was  perfectly  calm ;  nobody 
ever  saw  it  otherwise ;  but  his  delicacy  suffered  from  the  im- 
portance of  the  part  he  was  called  to  act.  He  asked  for  the 
interiour  posts  of  the  chateau,  in  order  that  he  might  ensure 
tlieir  safety.  Only  the  outer  posts  were  granted  to  him." 
This  refusal  was  not  disrespectful  to  him,  who  made  the  re- 
quest. It  was  given,  simply  because  the  etiquette  of  the  court 
reserved  the  guard  of  the  royal  person,  and  family,  to  another 
body  of  men.  Lafayette,  tlierefore,  answered  for  the  national 
guards,  and  for  the  posts  committed  to  them ;  but  he  could 
answer  for  no  more  ;*  and  his  pledge  was  faithfully  and  des- 
perately redeemed. 

Between  two  and  three  o'clock,  the  queen  and  the  royal 
family  went  to  bed.  Lafayette,  too,  slept  after  the  great  fa- 
tigues of  this  fearful  day.  At  half  past  four,  a  portion  of  the 
populace,  made  their  way  into  the  palace  by  an  obscure,  in- 
teriour passage,  which  had  been  overlooked,  and  which  was  not 
in  that  part  of  the  chateau  intrusted  to  Lafayette.  They 
were  evidently  led  by  i)ersons,  who  well  knew  the  secret  ave- 
nues. 

*  So  completely  were  all  persons  unsuspicions  of  any  itnmediate  danger, 
that  the  innards  of  the  interiour  posts  were  iiovihere  increased  ;  and  not 
the  slightest  change  wa«  'nade  in  the  customary  arrangements,  except 
what  was  made  at  the  solicitation  of  Lafayette. 


Lesson  64.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  165 

Mirabeau's  name  was  afterwards  strangely  compromised  in 
it,  and  the  form  of  the  infamous  Duke  of  Orleans,  was  re- 
peatedly recognized  on  the  great  staircase,  pointing  the  as^ 
sassins  the  way  to  the  queen's  chamber.  They  easily  icund 
it.  Two  of  her  guards  were  cut  down  in  an  instant ;  and  she 
made  her  escape  almost  naked.  Lafayette  immediately  rush- 
ed in  with  the  national  troops,  protected  the  guards  from  the 
brutal  populace,  and  saved  the  lives  of  the  royal  family,  which 
had  so  nearly  been  sacrificed  to  the  etiquette  of  the  mon- 
archy. 

The  day  dawned,  as  this  fearful  scene  of  guilt  and  blood- 
shed was  passing  in  the  magnificent  palace,  whose  construc- 
tion had  exhausted  the  revenues  of  Louis  XIV,  and  which, 
for  a  century,  had  been  the  most  splendid  residence  in  Eu- 
rope. As  soon  as  it  was  light,  the  same  furious  multitude 
filled  the  vast  space,  which,  from  the  rich  materials,  of  which 
it  is  formed,  passes  under  the  name  of  the  court  of  marble. 
They  called  upon  the  king,  in  tones  not  to  be  mistaken,  to  go 
to  Paris  ;  and  they  called  for  the  queen,  who  had  but  just 
escaped  from  their  daggers,  to  come  out  upon  the  balcony. 

The  king,  after  a  short  consultation  with  his  ministers,  an- 
nounced his  intention  to  set  out  for  the  capital ;  but  Lafayette 
was  afraid  to  trust  the  queen,  in  the  midst  of  the  bloodthirsty 
multitude.  He  went  to  her,  therefore,  with  respectful  hesita- 
tion, and  asked  her,  if  it  were  her  purpose  to  accompany  the 
king  to  Paris.  "  Yes,"  she  replied,  '*  although  I  am  aware  of 
the  danger."  "  Are  you  positively  determined  ?"  "  Yes, 
sir."  ''  Condescend,  then,  to  go  out  upon  the  balcony,  and 
suffer  me  to  attend  you."  "  Without  the  king  ?"— she  repli- 
ed, hesitating — "•  have  you  observed  the  threats  ?"  *'  Yes, 
madam,  I  have  ;  but  dare  to  trust  me." 

He  led  her  out  upon  the  balcony.  It  was  a  moment  of  great 
responsibility,  and  great  delicacy ;  but  nothing,  he  felt  assured, 
could  be  so  dangerous  as  to  permit  her  to  set  out  for  Paris, 
surrounded  by  that  multitude,  unless  its  feelings  could  be 
changed.  The  agitation,  the  tumult,  the  cries  of  the  crowd, 
rendered  it  impossible  that  his  x^oice  should  be  heard.  It 
was  necessary,  therefore,  to  address  himself  to  the  eye,  and 
turning  towards  the  queen,  with  that  admirable  presence  of 
mind,  which  never  yet  forsook  him,  and  with  that  mingled 
grace  and  dignity,  which  were  the  peculiar  inheritance  of  the 
ancient  court  of  France,  he  simply  kissed  her  hand,  before 
the  vast  multitude. 


166  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  65. 

An  instant  of  silent  astonishment  followed,  but  the  whole 
was  immediately  interpreted,  and  the  air  was  rent  with  cries 
of '*  long  live  the  queen!"  *Mong  live  the  general!"  from 
the  same  fickle  and  cruel  populace,  that  only  two  hours  be- 
fore, had  imbrued  their  hands  in  the  blood  of  tlie  guards, 
who  defended  the  life  of  this  same  queen. 


LESSON  LXV. 
The  Pioneer, — Cooper. 

The  place,  at  which  Mr.  Effingham  and  his  wife  arrived, 
was  the  little  spot  of  level  ground  where  the  cabin  of  Leather- 
stocking  had  so  long  stood.  They  found  it  entirely  cleared 
of  rubbish,  and  beautifully  laid  down  in  turf,  by  the  removal 
of  sods,  which,  in  common  with  the  surrounding  country,  had 
grown  gay,  under  the  influence  of  profuse  showers,  as  if  a 
second  spring  had  passed  over  the  land. 

This  little  place  was  surrounded  by  a  circle  of  mason-work> 
and  they  entered  by  a  small  gate,  near  which,  to  the  surprize 
of  both,  the  rifle  of  Leatherstocking  was  leaning  against  the 
wall.  His  dogs  reposed  on  the  grass  by  its  side,  as  if  con- 
scious that,  however  altered,  they  were  lying  on  ground, 
and  were  surrounded  by  objects,  with  which  they  were 
familiar. 

The  hunter,  himself,  was  stretched  on  the  earth,  before  a 
headstone  of  white  marble,  pushing  aside  with  his  fingers  the 
long  grass,  that  had  already  sprung  up  from  the  luxuriant 
soil  around  its  base,  apparently  to  lay  bare  the  inscription 
that  was  there  engraven.  By  the  side  of  this  stone^  which 
was  a  simple  slab,  at  the  head  of  a  grave,  stood  a  rich  monu- 
ment, decorated  with  an  urn,  and  ornamented  tastefully  with 
the  chisel. 

Oliver  and  Elizabeth  approached  the  graves,  with  a  light 
tread,  unheard  by  the  old  hunter,  whose  sun-burnt  face  was 
working  with  his  feelings,  and  whose  eyes  twinkled  as  if 
something  impeded  his  vision.  After  some  little  time,  he 
raised  himself  slowly  from  the  ground,  without  observing 
Ihem. 

Leatherstocking.  Well,  well,  I'm  bold  to  say  it's  all  right. 
There's  something,  that  I  suppose  is  reading  ;  but  I  can't 


Lesson  65.]         AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  167 

make  any  thing  of  it ;  though  the  pipe,  and  the  tomahawk, 
and  the  moccasins,  be  pretty  well — pretty  well,  for  a  man 
that  I  dare  say,  never  saw  either  of  the  things.  Ah's  me  ! 
there  they  lie,  side  by  side,  happy  enough  !  Who  will  there 
be  to  put  me  in  the  earth  when  my  time  comes  ? 

Oliver,  (discovering  himself)  When  that  hour  arrives, 
Natty,  friends  shall  not  be  wanting,  to  perform  the  last  offices 
for  you. 

L,  You  have  come  out  to  see  the  graves,  children,  have 
ye  ?  Well,  well,  they're  wholesome  sights  to  young,  as  well 
as  old. 

Ol,  I  hope  they  are  fitted  to  your  liking,  no  one  has  a 
better  right  than  yourself,  to  be  consulted  in  the  matter. 

L,  Why,  seeing  that  I  an't  used  to  fine  graves,  it  is  but 
little  matter,  concerning  my  taste.  Ye  laid  the  Major's  head 
to  the  west,  and  Mohegan's  to  the  east,  did  ye,  lad  ] 

OL     At  your  request,  it  was  done. 

L,  It's  best  so.  They  thought  they  had  to  journey  dif- 
ferent ways,  children.  Though,  there  is  Oife,  greater  than 
all,  who  will  bring  the  just  together  again,  at  his  own  time, 
and  who  will  whiten  the  skin  of  a  black-a-moor,  and  place 
him  on  a  footing  with  princes. 

Elizabeth,  There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that.  I  trust  we 
shall  all  meet  again,  and  be  happy  together. 

L,  Shall  we,  child  !  shall  we  1  There's  comfort  in  that 
thought  too.  But  before  I  go,  I  should  like  to  know  what 
you  have  said  of  the  old  Delaware,  and  the  bravest  white 
man,  that  ever  trod  the  hills. 

Ol,  (reads  the  inscription)  **  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Oli- 
ver Effingham,  Esquire,  formerly  a  Major  in  His  Britannick 
Majesty's  60th  Foot ;  a  soldier  of  tried  valour  ;  a  subject  of 
chivalrick  loyalty  ;  and  a  man  of  honesty.  To  these  virtues, 
he  added  the  graces  of  a  christian.  The  morning  of  his  life 
was  spent  in  honour,  wealth,  and  power  ;  but  its  evening  was 
obscured  by  poverty,  neglect,  and  disease,  which  were  alle- 
viated only  by  the  tender  care  of  his  old,  faithful,  and  up- 
right friend  and  attendant,  Nathaniel  Bumppo.  His  descend- 
ants rear  this  stone  to  the  virtues  of  the  master,  and  to  the 
enduring  gratitude  of  the  servant." 

L.  And  did  ye  say  it  lad  ?  have  you  got  then,  the  old 
man's^name  cut  in  the  stone,  by  the  side  of  his  master's  ? 
God  bless  ye,  children  !  'twas  a  kind  thought,  and  kindness 
goes  to  the  heart,  as  life  shortens. 


168  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  Go. 

OL  It  is  there  cut  in  plain  marble  ;  but  it  should  have 
been  written  in  letters  of  gold  ! 

Li.  Show  me  the  name,  boy,  let  me  see  my  own  name 
placed  in  such  honour.  'Tis  a  generous  gift  to  a  man,  who 
leaves  none  of  his  name  and  family  behind  him,  in  a  country 
where  he  has  tarried  so  long.  (Oliver  shews  the  name,)  I 
suppose  it's  all  right,  and  it's  kindly  thought,  and  kindly 
done  !     But,  what  have  ye  put  over  the  red  skin  ? 

Oh  You  shall  hear,  (reads)  "This  stone  is  raised  to 
the  memory  of  an  Indian  chief,  of  the  Delaware  tribe,  who 
was  known  by  the  several  names  of  John  Mohegan  ;  Mohi- 
can ;  and  Chingagook — " 

L.  Cliingachgook,  which  means  big-serpent.  The  name 
should  be  set  down  right,  for  an  Indian's  name  has  always 
some  meaning  in  iL 

OL  I.  will  see  it  altered,  (reads)  '*  He  was  the  last  of  his 
people,  who  continued  to  inhabit  this  country  ;  and  it  may 
be  said  of  him,  emphatically,  that  his  faults  were  those  of  an 
Indian,  and  his  virtues  those  of  a  man." 

L.  You  never  said  a  truer  word,  Mr.  Oliver.  Ah  !  if  you 
bad  known  him  as  I  did,  in  his  prime,  in  that  very  battle 
where  your  grandfather,  who  sleeps  by  his  side,  saved  his 
life,  when  those  thieves,  the  Iroquois,  had  him  at  the  stake, 
you'd  have  said  all  that,  and  more  too.  I  cut  the  thongs 
with  this  very  hand,  and  gave  him  my  own  tomahawk  and 
knife,  seeing  that  the  rifle  was  always  my  favourite  weapon. 
He  did  lay  about  him  like  a  man  !  When  I  look  around  me 
at  these  hills,  where  I  used  to  count,  sometimes  twenty 
smokes,  curling  over  the  tree-tops,  from  the  Delaware  camps, 
it  raises  mournful  thoughts,  to  think,  that  not  a  red-skin  is 
left  of  them  all — Well,  well !  the  time  has  come  at  last,  and 
I  must  go—     (taking  up  his  pack) 

OL     Go  !  whither  do  you  go  1 

E.  Go  !  You  should  not  venture  so  far  in  the  woods 
alone,  at  your  time  of  life,  Natty  ;  indeed  it  is  imprudent. 
He  is  bent,  Effingham  on  some  distant  hunting. 

OL  What  Mrs.  Effingham  tells  you,  is  true,  Leatherstock- 
hig.  There  can  be  no  necessity  for  your  submitting  to  such 
hardships,  now  !  So  throw  aside  your  pack,  and  confine 
your  hunt  to  the  mountains  near  us,  if  you  will  go. 

L,  Hardship  !  'tis  a  pleasure,  children,  and  the  greatest 
that  is  left  me  on  this  side  tl.e  grave. 

E,  No,  no  !  you  shall  not  go  to  such  a  distance.  {Laying 
her  hand  on  the  pack)  I  am  right,  I  feel  his  camp-kettle  and  a 


Lessm  65.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  169 

canister  of  powder.  He  must  not  be  suffered  to  wander  so 
far  from  us,  Oliver  ;  remember  how  suddenly  Mohegan  dropp'd 
away. 

L,  I  knew  the  parting  would  come  hard,  children,  I  knew 
it  would !  and  so  I  got  aside  to  look  at  the  graves  by  myself, 
and  thought  if  I  left  ye  the  keep-sake,  which  the  Major  gave 
me,  when  we  first  parted  in  the  woods,  ye  wouldn't  take  it  un- 
kind, but  would  know,  that  let  the  old  man's  body  go  where  it 
might,  his  feelings  staid  behind  him. 

OL  This  means  something  more  than  common  !  Where 
is  it,  Natty,  that  you  purpose  going  ? 

L.  Why,  lad,  they  tell  me,  that  on  the  Big-lakes,  there's 
the  best  of  hunting,  and  a  great  range,  without  a  white  man 
on  it,  unless  it  be  one  like  myself.  I'm  weary  of  living  in 
clearings,  and  where  the  hammer  is  sounding  in  my  ears  from 
sun-rise  to  sun-down.  And  though  I'm  much  bound  to  ye 
both  children,  I  wouldn't  say  it,  if  it  wasn't  true,  I  crave  to 
go  into  the  woods  again,  I  do. 

E,     Woods  !    Do  you  not  call  these  endless  forests  woods  1 

jL.  Ah,  child,  these  be  nothing  to  a  man,  that's  used  to 
the  wilderness.  I  have  taken  but  little  comfort  since  your 
father  came  on  with  his  settlers  ;  but  I  wouldn't  go  far,  while 
the  life  was  in  the  body,  that  lays  under  the  sod  there.  But 
now  he's  gone,  and  Mohegan  is  gone ;  and  you  are  both  young 
and  happy.  And  now  I  thought  it  was  the  time  to  try  and  get 
a  little  comfort  in  the  close  of  my  days.  Woods  !  indeed  1  I 
don't  call  these  woods,  Madam  Effingham,  where  I  lose  myself 
every  day  of  my  life  in  the  clearings. 

OL  If  there  be  any  thing  wanting  to  your  comfort,  name 
it,  Leatherstocking  ;  and  if  it  be  attainable,  it  is  yours. 

L.  You  mean  all  for  the  best,  lad,  I  know  it ;  and  so  does 
Madam  too ;  but  your  ways  are  not  my  ways.  'Tis  like  the 
dead  there,  who  thought  when  the  breath  was  in  them,  that 
one  went  east,  and  one  went  west,  to  find  their  heavens  ;  but 
they'll  meet  at  last ;  and  so  shall  we,  children. — Yes,  end  as 
you've  begun,  and  we  shall  all  meet  in  the  land  of  the  just,  at 
last. 

jEJ.  This  is  so  new  !  so  unexpected  !  I  had  thought  you 
meant  to  live  with  us,  and  die  with  us.  Natty. 

OL  Words  are  of  no  avail !  The  habits  of  forty  years  are 
not  to  be  dispossessed  by  the  ties  of  a  day.  I  know  you  too 
well  to  urge  you  farther.  Natty :  unless  you  will  let  me  build 
yo\i  a  hut,  on  one  of  the  distant  hills,  where  we  can  sometimes 
see  you,  and  know  that  you  are  comfortable. 
15 


fyO  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  65. 

L,  Don't  fear  the  Leatherstocking,  children ;  God  will 
see  that  his  days  be  provided  for,  and  his  end  happy.  I  know 
you  mean  all  for  the  best,  but  our  ways  don't  agree.  I  love 
the  woods,  and  ye  relish  the  face  of  man  ;  I  eat  when  I  am 
hungry,  and  drink  when  dry,  and  ye  keep  stated  hours  and 
rules  ;  nay,  nay,  you  even  over-feed  the  dogs,  lad,  from  pure 
kindness ;  and  hounds  should  be  gaunty,  to  run  well.  The 
meanest  of  God's  creatures  be  made  for  some  use,  and  I'm 
formed  for  the  wilderness ;  and  if  ye  love  me,  let  me  go  where 
my  soul  craves  to  be  again. 

OL  (Offers  him  bank-notes  from  his  pocket^ook)  Take 
these,  at  least,  take  these ;  secure  them  about  your  person, 
and  in  the  hour  of  need,  they  will  do  you  good  service. 

L.  (Examining  them)  This,  then,  is  some  of  the  new- 
fashioned  money  that  they've  been  making  at  Albany,  out  of 
paper  !  It  can't  be  worth  much  to  them  that  haven't  laming  ! 
No,  no,  lad — take  back  the  stuff;  it  will  do  me  no  service.  I 
took  care  to  get  all  the  Frenchman's  powder  before  he  broke 
up,  and  they  say,  lead  grows  where  I  am  going.  It  isn't 
even  fit  for  wads,  seeing  that  I  use  none  but  leather.  Madam 
Effingham,  let  an  old  man  kiss  your  hand,  and  wish  God's 
choicest  blessings  on  you  and  yours. 

E,  Once  more,  let  me  beseech  you,  stay  !  Do  not  Leather- 
stocking  leave  me  to  grieve  for  the  man,  who  has  twice  res- 
cued me  from  death,  and  who  has  served  those  I  love  so  faith- 
fully. For  my  sake,  if  not  for  your  own,  stay.  I  shall  see 
you  in  those  frightful  dreams,  that  still  haunt  my  nights,  dy- 
ing in  poverty  and  age,  by  the  side  of  those  terrifick  beasts  you 
slew.  There  will  be  no  evil  that  sickness,  want,,  and  solitude 
can  inflict,  that  my  fancy  will  not  conjure,  as  your  fate.  Stay 
with  us,  old  man  ;  if  not  for  your  own  sake,  at  least  for  ours. 

L.  Such  thoughts,  and  bitter  dreams.  Madam  Effingham, 
will  never  haunt  an  innocent  person  long.  They'll  pass  away 
with  God's  pleasure.  And  if  the  catamounts  be  yet  brought 
to  your  eyes  in  sleep,  'tis  not  for  my  sake,  but  to  show  you  the 
power  of  Him,  that  led  me  there  to  save  you.  Trust  in  God, 
Madam,  and  your  honourable  husband,  and  the  thoughts  for 
an  old  man  like  me,  can  never  be  long  nor  bitter.  I  pray 
that  the  Lord  will  keep  you  in  mind — the  Lord,  that  lives  in 
clearings,  as  well  as  in  the  wilderness — and  bless  you,  and  all 
that  belong  to  you,  from  this  time,  till  the  great  day  when  the 
whites  shall  meet  the  Red-skins  in  judgment,  and  justice 
shall  be  the  law.  and  not  power. 


Lesson  m,]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  171 

Elizabeth  raised  her  head,  and  offered  her  colourless  cheek 
to  his  salute  ;  when  he  lifted  his  cap,  and  touched  it  respect- 
fully. His  hand  was  grasped  with  convulsive  fervour  by  the 
youth,  who  continued  silent.  The  hunter  prepared  himself 
for  his  journey,  drawing  his  belt  tighter,  and  wasting  his  mo- 
ments in  the  little  reluctant  movements  of  a  sorrowful  depart- 
ure. Once  or  twice  he  essayed  to  speak,  but  a  rising  in  his 
throat  prevented  it.  At  length  he  shouldered  his  rifle,  and 
cried,  with  a  clear  huntsman's  call,  that  echoed  through  the 
woods.  "  Here  !  here  !  pups — away,  dogs  away  ! — ye'll  be 
foot-sore  before  you  see  the  end  of  your  journey." 

The  hounds  leaped  from  the  earth  at  his  cry,  and  scenting 
around  the  graves  and  the  silent  pair,  as  if  conscious  of  their 
own  destination,  they  followed  humbly  at  the  heels  of  their 
master.  A  short  pause  succeeded,  during  which  even  the 
youth  concealed  his  face  on  his  grandfather's  tomb.  When  the 
pride  of  manhood,  however,  suppressed  the  feelings  of  na- 
ture, he  turned  to  renew  his  entreaties,  but  saw  that  the  cem- 
etery was  occupied  only  by  himself  and  his  wife, 

*'  He  is  gone !''  cried  Effingham. 

Elizabeth  raised  her  face,  and  saw  the  old  hunter  standing 
looking  back  for  a  moment,  on  the  verge  of  the  wood,  As  he 
caught  their  glances,  he  drew  his  hard  hand  hastily  across 
his  eyes  again,  waved  it  on  high  for  an  adieu,  and  uttering  a 
forced  cry  to  his  dogs,  who  were  crouching  at  his  feet,  he  en- 
tered the  forest. 

This  was  the  last,  that  they  ever  saw  of  the  Leatherstocking, 
whose  rapid  movements  preceded  the  pursuit,  which  Judge 
Temple  both  ordered  and  conducted.  He  had  gone  far  to- 
wards the  setting  sun, — the  foremost  in  that  band  of  Pioneers, 
who  are  opening  the  way  for  the  march  of  our  nation  across 
the  continent. 


LESSON  LXVL 
Lines  on  the  Departure  of  the  Pioneer. — Brainard. 

Far  away  from  the  hill-side,  the  lake  and  the  hamlet, 
The  rock  and  the  brook,  and  yon  meadow  so  gay  ; 

From  the  foot-path,  that  winds  by  the  side  of  the  streamlet ; 
From  his  hut  and  the  grave  of  his  friend  far  away  ; 


in  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  67. 

H€  is  gone  where  the  footsteps  of  man  never  ventured. 
Where  the  glooms  of  the  vi'ild  tangled  forest  are  center'd, 
Where  no  beam  of  the  sun  or  the  sweet  moon  has  entered, 
No  blood-hound  has  roused  up  the  deer  with  his  bay. 

He  has  left  the  green  valley,  for  paths  where  the  Bison 
Roams  through  the  prairies,  or  leaps  o'er  the  flood  ; 

Where  the  snake  in  the  swamp  sucks  the  deadliest  poison, 
And  the  cat  of  the  mountains  keeps  watch  for  its  food. 

But  the  leaf  shall  be  greener,  the  sky  shall  be  purer, 

The  eyes  shall  be  clearer,  the  rifle  be  surer, 

And  stronger  the  arm  of  the  fearless  endurer,  [wood. 

That  trusts  nought  but  heaven,  in   his  way  through  the 

Light  be  the  heart  of  the  poor  lonely  wanderer, 
Firm  be  his  step  through  each  wearisome  mile, 

Far  from  the  cruel  man,  far  from  the  plunderer, 
Far  from  the  track  of  the  mean  and  the  vile. 

And  when  death,  with  the  last  of  its  terrours,  assails  him. 

And  all  but  the  last  throb  of  memory  fails  him, 

He'll  think  of  the  friend,  far  away,  that  bewails  him, 
And  light  up  the  cold  touch  of  death  with  a  smile. 

And  there  shall  the  dew  shed  its  sweetness  and  lustre, 

There  for  his  pall  shall  the  oak  leaves  be  spread  ; 
The  sweet  briar  shall  bloom,  and  the  wild  grape  shall  cluster. 

And  o'er  him  the  leaves  of  the  ivy  be  shed. 
There  shall  they  mix  with  the  fern  and  the  heather, 
There  shall  the  young  eagle  shed  its  first  feather. 
The  wolves  with  his  wild  dogs  shall  lie  there  together, 
And  moan  o'er  the  spot,  where  the  hunter  is  laid. 


LESSON  LXVn. 

Extract  from  Count  Rumford's  Description  of  his  Establish- 
ment for  the  Poor  in  Munich,  1790.  Affecting  proofs  of 
Gratitude  in  the  persons  relieved. 

The  awkwardness  of  these  poor  creatures,  when  they  were 
first  taken  from  the  streets  as  beggars,  and  put  to  work,  may 
easily  be  conceived  ;  but  the  facility,  with  which  they  acquir- 
ed address  in  the  various  manufactures,  in  which  they  were 


Lesson  67.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  173 

employed,  was  very  remarkable,  and  much  exceeded  my  ex- 
pectation. But  what  was  quite  surprising,  and  at  the  same 
time  interesting  in  the  highest  degree,  was  the  apparent  and 
rapid  change  which  was  produced  in  their  manners, — in  their 
general  behaviour, — and  even  in  the  very  air  of  their  coun 
tenances,  upon  being  a  little  accustomed  to  their  new  situa- 
tions. The  kind  usage  they  met  with,  and  the  comforts  they 
enjoyed,  seemed  to  have  softened  their  hearts,  and  awakened 
in  them  sentiments  as  new  and  surprising  to  themselves,  as 
they  were  interesting  to  those  about  them. 

The  melancholy  gloom  of  misery,  and  air  of  uneasiness 
and  embarrassment,  disappeared  by  little  and  little  from 
their  countenances,  and  were  succeeded  by  a  timid  dawn  of 
cheerfulness,  rendered  most  exquisitely  interesting  by  a  cer- 
tain mixture  of  silent  gratitude,  which  no  language  can  de- 
scribe. 

In  the  infancy  of  this  establishment,  when  these  poor 
creatures  were  first  brought  together,  I  used  very  frequently 
to  visit  them, — to  speak  kindly  to  them, — and  to  encourage 
them  ;  and  I  seldom  passed  through  the  halls  where  they  were 
at  work,  without  being  a  witness  to  the  most  moving  scenes. 

Objects,  formerly  the  most  miserable  and  wretched,  whom 
I  had  seen,  for  years,  as  beggars  in  the  streets  ;  young  wo- 
men,— perhaps  the  unhappy  victims  of  seduction,  who,  hav- 
ing lost  their  reputation,  and  being  turned  adrift  in  the  world, 
without  a  friend  and  without  a  home,  were  reduced  to  the 
necessity  of  begging,  to  sustain  a  miserable  existence,  now 
recognized  me  as  their  benefactor  ;  and,  with  tears  dropping 
fast  from  their  cheeks,  continued  their  work  in  the  most  ex- 
pressive silence. 

If  they  were  asked,  what  the  matter  was  with  them,  their 
answer  was,  ("  nichts")  "nothing  ;"  accompanied  by  a  look 
of  atfectionate  regard  and  gratitude,  so  exquisitely  touching 
as  frequently  to  draw  tears  from  the  most  insensible  of  the 
bystanders. 

It  was  not  possible  to  be  mistaken  with  respect  to  the  real 
state  of  the  minds  of  these  poor  people  ;  every  thing  about 
them  showed  that  they  were  deeply  affected  with  the  kind- 
ness shewn  them  ;  and  that  their  hearts  were  really  softened, 
appeared,  not  only  from  their  unaffected  expressions  of  grat^ 
itude,  but  also  from  the  effusions  of  their  affectionate  regard 
for  those  who  were  dear  to  them.  In  short,  never  did  I  wit- 
ness such  affecting  scenes  as  passed  between  some  of  these 
poor  people  and  their  children. 


174  CLASS  BOOK  OP  [Lesson  67. 

At  first  the  children  were  separated  from  the  grown  per- 
sons ;  but  as  soon  as  order  was  thoroughly  established  in 
every  part  of  the  house,  and  the  poor  people  had  acquired  a 
certain  degree  of  address  in  their  work,  and  evidently  took 
pleasure  in  it,  as  many  of  those,  who  had  children  expressed 
an  earnest  desire  to  have  them  near  them,  permission  was 
granted  for  that  purpose  ;  and  the  spinning  halls,  by  degrees, 
were  filled  with  the  most  interesting  little  groups  of  industri- 
ous families,  who  vied  with  each  other  in  diligence  and  ad- 
dress ;  aiid  who  displayed  a  scene,  at  once  the  most  busy, 
and  the  most  cheerful,  that  can  be  imagined. 

An  industrious  family  is  ever  a  pleasing  object ;  but  there 
was  something  peculiarly  interesting  and  affecting  in  the 
groups  of  these  poor  people.  Whether  it  was,  that  those  who 
saw  them  compared  their  present  situation  with  the  state  of 
misery  and  wretchedness  from  which  they  had  been  taken ; 
or  whether  it  was  the  joy  and  exultation,  which  were  express- 
ed in  the  countenances  of  the  poor  parents  in  contemplat- 
ing their  children  all  busily  employed  about  them  ;  or  the 
air  of  self-satisfaction,  which  those  little  urchins  put  on,  at 
the  consciousness  of  their  own  dexterity,  while  they  pursued 
their  work  with  redoubled  diligence  upon  being  observed, 
that  rendered  the  scene  so  singularly  interesting,  I  know 
not ;  but  certain  it  is,  that  few  strangers,  who  visited  the 
establishment,  came  out  of  these  halls  without  being  much# 
affected. 

Many  humane  and  well  disposed  persons  are  often  with- 
held from  giving  alms,  on  account  of  the  "bad  character  of 
beggars  in  general ;  but  this  circumstance,  though  it  ought 
undoubtedly  to  be  taken  into  consideration  in  determining 
the  mode  of  administering  our  charitable  assistance,  should 
certainly  not  prevent  our  interesting  ourselves  in  the  fate  of 
these  unhappy  beings.  On  the  contrary,  it  ought  to  be  an 
additional  incitement  to  us  to  relieve  them  ;  for  nothing  is 
more  certain,  than  that  their  crimes  are  very  often  the  effects, 
not  the  causes  of  their  misery  ;  and  when  this  is  the  case,  by 
removing  the  cause,  the  effects  will  cease. 

Nothing  is  more  extraordinary  and  unaccountable',  than 
the  inconsistency  of  mankind  in  every  thing  ;  even  m  the 
practice  of  that  divine  virtue,  benevolence ;  and  most  of  our 
mistakes  arise  more  from  indolence  andfrom  inattention,  than 
from  any  thing  else.  The  busy  part  of  mankind  are  too  in- 
tent upon  tlieir  own  private  pursuits;  and  those  who  have 
leisure,  are  too  averse  from  giving  themselves  trouble,  to  in- 


Lesson  67.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  175 

vestigate  a  subject,  but  too  generally  considered  as  tiresome 
and  uninteresting.  But  if  it  be  true,  that  we  are  really 
happy,  only  in  proportion  as  we  ought  to  be  so  ;  that  is,  in 
proportion  as  we  are  instrumental  in  promoting  the  happiness 
of  others ;  no  study  surely  can  be  so  interesting,  as  that 
which  teaches  us  how  most  effectually  to  contribute  to  the 
well-being  of  our  fellow-creatures. 

If  love  be  blind,  self-love  is  certainly  very  shortsighted ; 
and  without  the  assistance  of  reason  and  reflection,  is  but  a 
bad  guide  in  the  pursuit  of  happiness. 

Those  who  take  pleasure  in  depreciating  all  the  social  vir- 
tues, have  represented  pity  as  a  mere  selfish  passion ;  and 
there  are  some  circumstances,  which  appear  to  justify  this 
opinion.  It  is  certain  that  the  misfortunes  of  others  affect 
us,  not  in  proportion  to  their  greatness,  but  in  proportion  to 
their  nearness  to  ourselves  ;  or  to  the  chances  that  they  may 
reach  us  in  our  turns.  A  rich  man  is  infinitely  more  affect- 
ed at  the  misfortune  of  his  neighbour,  w^ho,  by  the  failure  of 
a  banker,  with  whom  he  had  trusted  the  greater  part  of  his 
fortune  ;  by  an  unlucky  run  at  play, — or  by  other  losses,  is 
reduced  from  a  state  of  affluence,  to  the  necessity  of  laying 
down  his  carriage  ;  leaving  the  town  ;  and  retiring  into  the 
country  upon  a  few  hundreds  a  year  ;  than  by  the  total  ruin 
of  the  industrious  tradesman  over  the  way,  who  is  dragged 
to  prison,  and  his  numerous  family  of  young  and  helpless 
children  left  to  starve.  v 

But  however  selfish  pity  may  be,  benevolence  certainly 
springs  from  a  more  noble  origin.  It  is  a  good-natured,  gen- 
erous sentiment,  which  does  not  require  being  put  to  the  tor- 
ture in  order  to  be  stimulated  to  action.  And  it  is  this  senti- 
ment, not  pity,  or  compassion,  which  I  would  wish  to  excite. 
Pity  is  always  attended  with  pain  ;  and  if  our  sufferings 
at  being  witnesses  of  the  distresses  of  others,  sometimes 
force  us  to  relieve  them,  we  can  neither  have  much  merit, 
nor  any  lasting  satisfaction,  from  such  involuntary  acts  of 
charity  ;  but  the  enjoyments  which  result  from  acts  of  genu- 
ine benevolence,  are  as  lasting  as  they  are  exquisitely  delight- 
ful ;  and  the  more  they  are  analyzed  and  contemplated,  the 
more  they  contribute  to  that  inward  peace  of  mind  and  self- 
approbation,  wiiich  alone  constitute  real  happiness.  This  is 
the  "  soul's  calm  sun-shine,  and  the  heart-felt  joy,"  which  is 
virtue's  prize. 

To  induce  mankind  to  engage  in  any  enterprize,  it  is  ne- 
cessary, first,  to  shov/  that  success  wull  be  attended  with  real 


176  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  67. 

advantage  ;  and  secondly,  that  it  may  be  obtained  without 
much  difficulty.  The  rewards  attendant  upon  acts  of  benev- 
olence, have  so  often  been  described  and  celebrated,  in  every 
country  and  in  every  language,  that  it  would  be  presumption 
in  me,  to  suppose  I  could  add  any  thing  new  upon  a  subject 
already  discussed  by  the  greatest  masters  of  rhetorick,  and 
embellished  with  all  the  irresistible  charms  of  eloquence  ; 
but  as  examples  of  success  are  sometimes  more  efficacious  in 
stimulating  mankind  to  action,  than  the  most  splendid  rea- 
sonings and  admonitions,  it  is  upon  my  success  in  the  enter- 
prize,  of  which  1  have  undertaken  to  give  an  account,  that 
my  hopes  of  engaging  others  to  follow  such  an  example,  are 
chiefly  founded  ;  and  hence  it  is,  that  I  so  often  return  to 
that  part  of  my  subject,  and  insist  with  so  much  perseverance 
upon  the  pleasure,  which  this  success  afforded  me.  I  am 
aware  that  I  expose  myself  to  being  suspected  of  ostenta- 
tion, particularly  by  those  who  are  not  able  to  enter  fully  into 
my  situation  and  feelings ;  but  neither  this,  nor  any  other  con- 
sideration, shall  prevent  me  from  treating  the  subject  in  such  a 
manner  as  may  appear  best  adapted  to  render  my  labours  of 
publick  utility. 

Why  should  I  not  mention  even  the  marks  of  affectionate 
regard  and  respect,  which  I  received  from  the  |x>or  people, 
for  whose  happiness  I  interested  myself,  and  the  testimonies 
of  the  publick  esteem  with  which  I  was  honoured  ?  Will  it  > 
be  reckoned  vanity, .if  I  mention  the  concern  which  the  Poor 
of  Munich  expressed  in  so  affecting  a  manner,  when  I  was 
dangerously  ill  ?  that  they  went  publickly  in  a  body,  in  pro- 
cession, to  the  cathedral  cluirch,  where  they  had  divine 
service  performed,  and  put  up  publick  prayers  for  my  recov- 
ery ?  that  four  years  afterwards,  on  hearing  that  I  was  again 
dangerously  ill  at  Naples,  they,  of  their  own  accord,  set  apart 
an  hour  each  evening,  after  they  had  finished  their  work  in 
the  Military  Work-house,  to  pray  for  me  ? 

Will  it  be  thought  improper  to  mention  the  affecting  re- 
ception I  met  with  from  them,  at  my  first  visit  to  the  Military 
W^ork-house,  upon  my  return  to  Munich,  last  summer,  after 
an  absence  of  fifteen  months  ;  a  scene  which  drew  tears  from 
all  who  were  present  ?  and  must  I  refuse  myself  the  satisfac- 
tion of  describing  the  fete  I  gave  them  in  return,  in  the 
English  Garden,  at  which  eighteen  hundred  poor  people  of 
all  ages,  and  above  thirty  thousand  of  the  inhabitants  of  Mu- 
nich, assisted  ?  and  all  this  pleasure  I  must  forego,  merely 
that  I  may  not  be  thought  vain   and  ostentatious  ?     Be  it  so 


Lesson  68.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  177 

then  ;  but  I  would  just  beg  leave  to  call  the  reader's  attention 
to  my  feelings  upon  the  occasion  ;  and  then  let  him  ask  him- 
self, if  any  earthly  reward  can  possibly  be  supposed  greater  ; 
any  enjoyments  more  complete,  than  those  I  received. 

Let  him  figure  to  himself,  if  he  can,  my  situation  ;  sick  in 
bed,  worn  out  by  intense  application,  and  dying,  as  every 
body  thought,  a  martyr  in  the  cause  to  which  I  had  devoted 
myself;  let  him  imagine,  I  say,  my  feelings,  upon  hearing 
the  confused  noise  of  the  prayers  of  a  multitude  of  people, 
who  were  passing  by  in  the  streets,  upon  being  told,  that  it 
was  the  Poor  of  Munich,  many  hundreds  in  number,  who 
were  going  in  procession  to  the  church,  to  put  up  publick 
prayers  for  me :  publick  prayers  for  me  !  for  a  private  per- 
son !  a  stranger  !  a  protestant !  I  believe  it  is  the  first  in- 
stance of  the  kind,  that  ever  happened  ;  and  I  dare  venture 
to  affirm  that  no  proof  could  well  be  stronger  than  this,  that 
the  measures  adopted  for  making  these  poor  people  happy, 
were  really  successful ;  and  let  it  be  remembered,  that  this 
fact  is  what  I  am  most  anxious  to  make  appear,  in  the  clear- 
est and  most  satisfactory  manner. 


p 


LESSON   LXVIIL 

The  Murdered  Traveller, — Bryant. 

When  Spring  to  woods  and  wastes  around, 

Brought  bloom  and  joy  again ; 
The  murdered  traveller's  bones  were  found. 

Far  down  a  narrow  glen. 

The  fragrant  birch,  above  him,  hung 

Her  tassels  in  the  sky  ; 
And  many  a  vernal  blossom  sprung, 

And  nodded,  careless,  by. 

The  red-bird  warbled,  as  he  wrought 

His  hanging  nest  o'erhead, 
And  fearless  near  the  fatal  spot, 

Her  young  the  partridge  led. 

But  there  was  weeping  far  away, 
And  gentle  eyes,  for  him, 


178  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  69. 

With  watching  many  an  anxious  day, 
Grew  sorrowful  and  dim. 

They  little  knew,  who  loved  him  so, 

The  fearful  death  he  met, 
When  shouting  o'er  the  desert  snow, 

Unarmed,  and  hard  beset. 

Nor  how  when  round  the  frosty  pole 

The  northern  dawn  was  red, 
The  mountain  wolf  and  wild-cat  stole 

To  banquet  on  the  dead. 

Nor  how,  when  strangers  found  his  bones, 

Th^y  dressed  the  hasty  bier, 
And  marked  his  grave  with  nameless  stones, 

Unmoistened  by  a  tear. 

But  long  they  looked,  and  feared,  and  wept, 

Within  his  distant  home ; 
And  dreamed,  and  started  as  they  slept, 

For  joy  that  he  was  come. 


So  long  they  looked — but  never  spied 

His  welcome  step  again. 
Nor  knew  the  fearful  death  he  died 

Far  down  that  narrow  glen. 


LESSON  LXIX. 

Autumn  Woods, — Bryant. 

Ere,  in  the  northern  gale, 
The  summer  tresses  of  the  trees  are  gone. 
The  woods  of  Autumn,  all  around  our  vale, 

Have  put  their  glory  on. 

The  mountains  that  infold 
In  their  wide  sweep,  the  coloured  landscape  round 
Seem  groups  of  giant  kings  in  purple  and  gold. 

That  guard  the  enchanted  ground. 


^ 


Lesson  69.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  179 

I  roam  the  woods  that  crown 
The  upland,  where  the  mingled  splendours  glow, 
Where  the  gay  company  of  trees  look  down 

On  the  green  fields  below. 

3Iy  steps  are  not  alone 
In  these  bright  walks  ;  the  sweet  southwest,  at  play, 
Flies,  rustling,  where  the  painted  leaves  are  strown 

Along  the  winding  way. 

And  far  in  heaven,  the  while, 
The  sun,  that  sends  that  gale  to  wander  here. 
Pours  out  on  the  fair  earth  his  quiet  smile, — 

The  sweetest  of  the  year. 

Where  now  the  solemn  shade, 
Verdure  and  gloom  where  many  branches  meet ; 
So  grateful,  when  the  noon  of  summer  made 

The  valleys  sick  with  heat  ? 


I 


Let  in  through  all  the  trees 
Come  the  strange  rays  ;  the  forest  depths  are  bright ; 
Their  sunny-coloured  foliage,  in  the  breeze, 

Twinkles,  like  beams  of  light. 

The  rivulet,  late  unseen. 
Where  bickering  through  the  shrubs  its  waters  run, 
Shines  with  the  image  of  its  golden  screen, 

And  glimmerings  of  the  sun. 

Oh,  Autumn  !  why  so  soon 
Dqpart  the  hues,  that  make  thy  forests  glad  ; 
Thy  gentle  wind  and  thy  fair  sunny  noon, 

And  leave  thee  wild  and  sad  ! 

Ah,  't  were  a  lot  too  blest 
Forever  in  thy  coloured  shades  to  stray  ; 
Amidst  the  kisses  of  the  soft  southwest 

To  rove  and  dream  for  aye  ; 

And  leave  the  vain  low  strife 
That  makes  men  mad — the  tug  for  wealth  and  power. 
The  passions  and  the  cares  that  wither  life,    , 

And  waste  its  little  hour. 


180  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  70. 

LESSON  LXX. 

Scenes  in  Philadelphia^  during  the  prevalence  of  the   Yellow 
Fever,  in  1793.— C.  B.  Brown. 

In  proportion  as  I  drew  near  the  city,  the  tokens  of  its  ca- 
lamitous condition  became  more  apparent.  Every  farm  house 
was  filled  with  supernumerary  tenants,  fugitives  from  home, 
and  haunting  the  skirts  of  the  road,  eager  to  detain  every 
passenger  with  inquiries  after  news.  The  passengers  were 
numerous  ;  for  the  tide  of  emigration  was  by  no  means  ex- 
hausted. Some  were  on  foot,  bearing  in  their  countenances 
the  tokens  of  their  recent  terrour,  and  filled  with  mournful  re- 
flections on  the  forlornness  of  their  state.  Few  had  secured 
to  themselves  an  asylum  ;  some  were  without  the  means  of 
paying  for  victuals  or  lodging  for  the  coming  night ;  others, 
who  were  not  thus  destitute,  yet  knew  not  where  to  apply  for 
entertainment,  every  house  being  already  over-stocked  with 
inhabitants,  or  barring  its  inhospitable  doors  at  their  approach. 

Families  of  weeping  mothers,  and  dismayed  children,  attend- 
ed with  a  few  pieces  of  indispensable  furniture,  were  carried 
in  vehicles  of  every  form.  The  parent  or  husband  had  perish- 
ed ;  and  the  price  of  some  moveable,  or  the  pittance  handed 
forth  by  publick  charity,  had  been  expended  to  purchase 
means  of  retiring  from  the  theatre  of  disasters ;  though 
certain  and  hopeless  of  accommodation  in  the  neighbour^ 
districts. 

Between  those,  and  the  fugitives,  whom  curiosity  had 
to  the  road,  dialogues  frequently  took  place,  to  which  I  was 
suffered  to  listen.  From  every  mouth  the  tale  of  sorrow  was 
repeated  with  new  aggravations.  Pictures  of  their  own  dis- 
tress, or  of  that  of  their  neighbours,  were  exhibited  in  all  the 
hues,  which  imagination  can  annex  to  pestilence,  and  pov- 
erty. 

The  sun  had  nearly  set,  before  I  reached  the  precincts  of 
the  city.  I  pursued  the  tract  which  I  had  formerly  taken, 
and  entered  High-Street  after  night-fall.  Instead  of  equi- 
pages and  a  throng  of  passengers,  the  voice  of  levity  and  glee, 
which  I  had  formerly  observed,  and  which  the  mildness  of 
the  season  would,  at  other  times,  have  produced,  I  found  noth- 
ing but  a  dreary  solitude. 

The  market-place,  and  each  side  of  this  magnificent  ave- 
nue, were  illuminated  as  before,  by  lamps;  but  between  the 
verge  of  Schuylkill,  and  the  heart  of  the  city,  I  met  not  more 


ish- 
ded     ^ 

le^i 


Lesson  70.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  181 

than  a  dozen  figures;  and  these  were  ghostlike,  wrapt  in 
cloaks,  from  behind  which  they  cast  upon  me  glances  of 
wonder  and  suspicion  ;  and  as  I  approached,  changed  their 
course,  to  avoid  touching  me.  Their  clothes  were  sprinkled 
with  vinegar ;  and  their  nostrils  defended  from  contagion  by 
some  powerful  perfume. 

I  cast  a  look  upon  the  houses,  which  I  recollected  to  have 
formerly  been,  at  this  hour,  brilliant  with  lights,  resounding  with 
lively  voices,  and  thronged  with  busy  faces.  Now  they  were 
closed,  above  and  below  ;  dark,  and  without  tokens  of  being 
inhabited.  From  the  upper  windows  of  some,  a  gleam  some- 
times fell  upon  the  pavement  I  was  traversing,  and  shewed 
that  their  tenants  had  not  fled,  but  were  secluded  or  disabled. 

These  tokens  were  new,  and  awakened  all  my  panicks. 
Death  seemed  to  hover  over  this  scene,  and  I  dreaded  that 
the  floating  pestilence,  had  already  lighted  on  my  frame.  I 
had  scarcely  overcome  these  tremours,  when  I  approached  a 
house,  the  door  of  which  was  open,  and  before  which  stood  a 
vehicle,  which  I  presently  recognized  to  be  a  hearse.  The 
driver  was  seated  on  it — I  stood  still  to  mark  his  visage,  and 
to  observe  the  course  which  he  proposed  to  take. 

Presently  a  coffin,  borne  by  two  men,  issued  from  the  house, 
^^^rhe  driver  was  a  negro,  but  his  companions  were  white. 
^BK!heir  features  were  ma?*ked  by  ferocious  indifference  to  dan- 
^^^^  or  pity.  One  of  them,  as  he  assisted  in  thrusting  the  coffin 
^^^Ro  the  cavity  provided  for  it,  said,  '•'■  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  think 
^^Ke  poor  dog  was  quite  dead.  It  wasn't  the  fever  that  ailed 
^^nim,  but  the  sight  of  the  girl  and  her  mother  on  the  floor  ;  I 
wonder  how  they  all  got  into  that  room.  What  carried 
them  there?" 

The  other  surlily  muttered,  "their  legs,  to  be  sure." 

'*  But  what  should  they  hug  together  in  one  room  for  ?" 

•*  To  save  us  trouble,  to  be  sure." 

"  And  I  thank  them  with  all  my  heart ;  but  hang  it,  it  wasn't 
right  to  put  him  in  his  coffin  before  the  breath  was  fairly 
gone.  I  thought  the  last  look  he  gave  me,  told  me  to  stay  a 
few  minutes." 

"  Pshaw  !  he  could  not  live.  The  sooner  dead  the  better  for 
him,  as  well  as  for  us.  Did  you  mark  how  he  eyed  us,  when 
we  carried  away  his  wife  and  daughter  ?  I  never  cried  in  my 
life,  since  I  was  a  knee  high,  but  I  never  felt  in  better  tune 
for  the  business  than  just  then." 

'*  Hey  1"  continued  he,  looking  up,  and  observing  me  stand- 
ing  a   few  paces  distant,  and  listening  to  their  discourse, 
16 


182  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  70. 

'<  What's  wanted  ?  Any  body  dead  ?"  I  stayed  not  to  an- 
swer, or  parley,  but  hurried  forward.  My  joints  trembled, 
and  cold  drops  stood  on  my  forehead.  1  was  ashamed  of  my 
own  infirmity  ;  and  by  vigorous  efforts  of  my  reason,  regained 
vsome  degree  of  composure. 

The  evening  had  now  advanced,  and  it  behoved  me  to  pro- 
cure accommodations  at  some  of  the  inns.  These  were  easily 
distinguished  by  their  signs,  but  many  were  without  inhab- 
itants. At  length,  I  lighted  upon  one,  the  hall  of  which  was 
open,  and  the  windows  lifted.  After  knocking  for  some  time, 
a  young  girl  appeared,  with  many  marks  of  distress.  In  an- 
swer to  my  question,  she  answered,  that  both  her  parents  were 
sick,  and  that  they  could  receive  no  one.  I  inquired  in  vain, 
ibr  any  other  tavern,  at  which  strangers  might  be  accommoda- 
ted. She  knew  of  none  such  ;  and  left  me,  on  some  one's 
calling  to  her  from  above,  in  the  midst  of  my  embarrassment 
After  a  moment's  pause,  I  returned,  discomforted  and  perplex- 
ed, to  the  street. 

I  immediately  directed  my  steps  towards  the^  habitation  of 
Thetford.  Carriages,  bearing  the  dead,  were  frequently  dis^ 
covered.  A  few  passengers  likewise  occurred,  whose  hasty 
and  perturbed  steps,  denoted  their  participation  in  the  common 
ilistress. 

The    house,    of  which  I  was  in  quest,  quickly   appearei 
Light,  from  an  upper  window,  indicated  that  it  was  still 
habited. 

I  paused  a  moment,  to  reflect  in  what  manner  it  became  ml 
fo  proceed. 

I  knocked  dubiously  and  lightly.  No  one  came — I  knock- 
ed again,  and  more  loudly ;  1  likewise  drew  the  bell.  I  dis- 
tinctly heard  its  distant  peals.  If  any  were  within,  my  signal 
could  not  fail  to  be  noticed.  I  paused,  and  listened,  but 
neither  voice  nor  steps  could  be  heard.  The  light,  though 
obscured  by  window  curtains,  which  seemed  to  be  drawn 
close,  was  still  perceptible. 

I  ruminated  on  the  causes,  that  might  hinder  my  summons 
from  being  obeyed.  I  figured  to  myself  nothing  but  the 
helplessness  of  disease,  or  the  insensibility  of  death.  These 
images  only  urged  me  to  persist  in  endeavouring  to  obtain 
admission.  Without  weighing  the  consequences  of  my  act, 
I  involuntarily  lifted  the  latch.  The  door  yielded  to  my  hand, 
and  I  put  my  foot  within  the  passage. 

Once  more  I  paused.  The  passage  was  of  considerable  ex- 
tent, and  at  the  end  of  it  I  perceived  a  light,  as  from  a  lamp 


ion 
ed^^ 

m^^H 


pc 
1^     ac 

M 


Lesson  70.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE  183 

or  candle.  This  impelled  me  to  go  forward,  till  I  reached 
the  foot  of  a  stair  case  ;  a  candle  stood  upon  the  lowest  step ! 
This  was  a  new  proof  that  the  house  was  not  deserted.  I 
struck  my  heel  against  the  floor  with  some  violence  ;  but  this, 
like  my  former  signals,  was  unnoticed.  Having  proceeded 
thus  far,  it  would  have  been  absurd  to  retire  with  my  purpose 
uneffected.  Taking  the  candle  in  my  hand,  I  opened  a  door 
that  was  near.  It  led  me  into  a  spacious  parlour,  furnished 
with  profusion  and  splendour.  I  walked  to  and  fro,  gazing 
at  the  objects  which  presented  themselves ;  and  involved  in 
perplexity.  I  knocked  with  my  heel,  louder  than  ever ;  but 
no  less  ineffectually.  Notwithstanding  the  lights,  which  I 
had  seen,  it  was  possible  that  the  house  was  uninhabited. 
This  I  was  resolved  to  ascertain  by  proceeding  to  the  cham- 
ber, which  I  had  observed  from  without  to  be  illuminated. 

I  mounted  the  stairs.  As  I  approached  the  door,  of  which 
I  was  in  search,  a  vapour  infectious  and  deadly,  assailed  my 
senses.  The  effluvia  became  more  sensible,  as  I  approached 
the  door  of  the  chamber.  The  door  was  ajar  ;  and  the  light 
within  was  perceived.  My  belief,  that  those  within  were 
dead,  was  presently  confuted  by  a  sound,  which,  I  first  sup- 
posed to  be  that  of  steps  moving  quickly  and  timorously 
across  the  floor.  This  ceased,  and  was  succeeded  by  sounds 
of  diflerent,  but  inexplicable  import. 

Having  entered  the  apartment,  I  saw  a  candle  on  the  hearth. 

table  covered  with  vials,  and  other  apparatus  of  a  sick  cham- 
ber. A  bed  stood  on  one  side,  the  curtain  of  which  was 
dropped  at  foot,  so  as  to  conceal  any  one  within.  I  fixed  my 
eyes  upon  this  object.  There  were  sufl[icient  tokens  that  some 
one  lay  upon  the  bed.  Breath  drawn  at  long  intervals ;  mut- 
terings  scarcely  audible ;  and  a  tremulous  motion  in  the  bed- 
stead, were  fearful  and  intelligible  indications.  I  advanced, 
and  drew  aside  the  curtains. 

I  beheld  one,  to  whom,  I  could  recollect  none  that  bore 
resemblance.  Though  ghastly  and  livid,  the  traces  of  intelli- 
gence and  beauty  were  undefaced.  His  extremities  were 
already  cold.  A  vapour,  noisome  and  contagious,  hovered 
over  him.  The  fluttering  of  his  pulse  had  ceased — his  exist- 
ence was  about  to  close  amidst  convulsions  and  pangs. 

I  withdrew  my  gaze  from  this  object,  and  walked  to  a 
table.  I  was  nearly  unconscious  of  my  movements.  My 
thoughts  were  occupied  with  contemplations  of  the  train  of 
horrours  and  disasters,  that  pursue  the  race  of  man.  My  mus- 
ings were  quickly  interrupted  by  the  sight  of  a  small  cabinet, 


184  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  71. 

the  hinges  of  which  were  broken,  and  the  lid  half  raised.  In 
the  present  state  of  my  thoughts,  I  was  prone  to  suspect  the 
worst.  Here  were  traces  of  pillage.  Some  casual  or  merce- 
nary attendant,  had  not  only  contributed  to  hasten  the  death 
of  the  patient,  but  had  rifled  his  property,  and  fled. 

This  suspicion  would,  perhaps,  have  yielded  to  mature  re- 
flections, if  I  had  been  suffered  to  reflect.  A  moment  scarce- 
ly elapsed,  when  some  appearance  in  the  mirrour,  which  hung 
over  the  table,  called  my  attention.  It  was  a  human  figure, 
nothing  could  be  briefer  than  the  glance,  that  I  fixed  upon 
this  apparition,  yet  there  was  room  enough  for  the  vague  con- 
ception to  suggest  itself,  that  the  dying  man  had  started  from 
his  bed,  and  was  approaching  me.  This  belief  was,  at  the 
same  instant,  confuted,  by  the  survey  of  his  form  and  garb. 
One  eye,  a  scar  upon  his  cheek,  a  tawny  skin,  a  form  gro- 
tesquely misproportioned,  brawny  as  Hercules,  and  habited 
in  livery,  comj)Osed,  as  is  it  were,  the  parts  of  one  view. 

To  perceive,  to  fear,  and  to  confront  this  apparition  were 
blended  into  one  sentiment.  I  turned  towards  him  with  the 
swiftness  of  lightning,  but  my  speed  was  useless  to  my  safety. 
A  blow  upon  my  temple  was  succeeded  by  an  utter  oblivion 
of  thought  and  of  feeling.  I  sunk  upon  the  floor,  prostrate 
and  senseless. 


LESSON  LXXI. 


Sketches  of  the    German    Character   and   Customs, — U.  S. 
Literary  Gazette. 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  in  the  German  charac- 
ter, is  a  quiet  and  equable  disposition.  This  is  also  accom- 
panied by  a  mechanical  self-accommodation,  to  the  various 
and  conflicting  circumstances  of  daily  occurrence.  Every 
man,  woman,  and  child,  seems  to  have  fallen  "  just  in  the 
niche  they  were  ordained  to  fill ;"  and  all  the  operations  of 
society,  proceed  with  an  evenness,  and  noiselessness,  which 
would  be  inconceivable  to  the  bustlers  of  New  York,  or 
Boston. 

In  obedience  to%  law,  as  uniform  and  silent,  as  that  which 
governs  the  motions  of  the  planets,  a  fixed  hour  brings  the 
German  artizan,  or  trader,  to  his  shop,  the  professor  to  his 
study,  and  the  student,  pipe  in  mouth,  to  the  window-sill,  to 
gaze  upon  vacancy.     With  the  return  of  a  Sabbath,  or  a  fc?-. 


i 


LCSS071  71]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  185 

tival,  a  certain  change  takes  place  in  the  dress  and  place  of 
resort*  Political,  commercial,  and  literary  vicissitudes  produce 
no  sensible  fluctuations  on  the  surface  of  character  ;  and, 
where  these  are  powerless,  we  cannot  expect  that  such  ordi- 
nary events  as  marriages,  and  deaths,  should  very  strongly 
affect  the  feelings. 

Still,  the  parade  of  sensibility,  as  might  be  anticipated, 
supplies  after  some  sort,  the  absence  of  the  reality.  It  is  not 
uncommon,  to  conclude  a  pathetick  newspaper  account  of 
the  decease  of  husband  or  father  (which  is  here  generally 
inserted  as  an  advertisement,  signed  by  the  nearest  surviving 
relatives)  by  a  notice  that  business  is  continued  as  usual, 
and  a  request  for  further  favours  from  customers. 

A  man  died  in  Gottingen,  a  few  weeks  since,  in  the  vigour 
of  life.     The  day  after  the  funeral,  I  saw  the  widow,  with 
two  or  three  of  her  female  friends,  in  the  garden  where  I 
live,  hiding  her  anguish  under  a  calm,  and  even  very  cheer- 
ful countenance.     Indeed,  they  all  seem  fully  to  realize,  that 
"  all  the  world*s  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  and  women  merely 
players  ;"  accordingly,  they  sing,  when  at  church,  and  cry 
bitterly  at  a  funeral,  or  at  parting  with  a  friend  ;    because, 
these  are  the  proper  scenes  for  singing  and  weeping.     But, 
j^  the  next  hour,  finds  them  in  another  act  of  the  play,  and 
^^they  are    buying,  or   selling,  or  smoking  with  their  usual 
^^Herenity. 

^^^  Even  the  soldiers,  a  name  synonymous  in  other  countries, 

BF^with  ardour   and  impetuosity,  are  here  the  mere  machines 

^      which  modern  warriours  admire  as  the  heau  ideal  of  military 

discipline.     Their  firmness  is  renowned,  but  I  hsL've  never 

heard  them  commended  for  quickness  and  alacrity.    Madame 

de  Stael  has  most  justly  ridiculed  their  pedantick  system  of 

*  tacticks,  which  makes  them  contentedly  acquiesce  in  a  defeat, 

if  it  is  only  effected  according  to  rule. 

I  have  heard  a  circumstance  related,  which  may  be  men- 
tioned in  this  connexion.  A  vessel,  in  its  passage  down  the 
Elbe,  ran  afoul  of  one  of  the  floating  mills,  that  are  numerous 
on  that  river.  The  shock  was  so  violent,  that  the  floating 
mill  instantly  parted  from  its  moorings,  and  drifted  rapidly 
towards  the  bank.  It  seemed  impossible  to  orevent  its  strik- 
ing, and  that  must  have  been  attended  by  the  total  ruin  of 
the  machinery.  Had  the  people  on  board,  been  Americans, 
or  English,  it  can  be  imagined  what  confusion,  and  bellow- 
ing, and  bustle  would  have  followed.  None  of  this,  from 
these  noiseless  Germans.  Not  a  word  was  spoken.  Each 
16* 


186  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  7l. 

one  knew  the  only  means,  that  could  save  their  boat.    These 
were  taken  in  silence,  and  the  machinery  was  saved. 

To  this  quiet  disposition,  the  students  at  the  universities, 
form  the  sole  exception.  These  young  men,  roar  and  brawl 
in  the  streets,  and  over  their  jugs  of  beer  ;  they  seek  quar- 
rels, and  light  them  out ;  and  never  does  the  first  sun  of  a 
new  year  arise  (the  season  when  the  poor  police-guard  must 
run  the  gauntlet  of  academick  persecution)  without  shining 
on  broken  windows,  and  other  evidences  of  the  uproar  of  the 
night.  But,  when  they  return  to  their  own  homes,  they  drop 
quietly  into  the  various  situations,  for  which  they  are  fitted, 
and  the  din  and  riot  of  the  university,  is  only  remembered  as 
a  feverish  dream. 

I  know  not  whether  it  be  attributable  to  this  easy  disposi- 
tion, or  to  the  peculiarity  of  their  climate,  but  this  people  is 
assuredly,  the  least  cleanly  I  ever  saw.  This  is  particularly 
true  of  the  lowest  order,  but  is  not  inapplicable  to  the  high- 
est. Neatness  principally  regards  our  persons,  our  habita- 
tions, and  our  food.  In  the  first,  the  Germans  fall,  even  be- 
hind the  Italians,  in  the  second,  behind  the  French,  and,  in 
all  three,  behind  the  English.  Even,  in  the  best  houses  in 
Dresden  and  Frankfort,  the  knife  and  fork  are  never  wiped 
during  dinner,  however  numerous  the  dishes,  and  you  must 
put  your  fingers  into  the  sugar-bowl ;  while,  in  France  and 
Italy,  there  is  here  and  there  a  place,  where  English  travelleri 
Jiave  introduced  better  customs. 

The  inns,  in  Europe,  more  than  in  this  country,  furnish  a 
pretty  just  criterion  of  a  neighbourhood  ;  and,  in  the  villages, 
and  small  towns,  in  Germany,  such  jffeodes  of  filth,  and  flies, 
and  darkness  !  It  were  purgatory  enough,  for  an  epicure  to 
be  obliged  to  sojourn,  only  for  a  short  time,  among  their 
"golden  lions,"  and  *' red  horses."  In  matter  of  food,  he  is 
safest  who  calls  only  for  bread  and  beer  ;  often,  he  could  not 
get  any  thing  else  if  he  would.  He  is  fortunate,  if  his  sour 
brown  bread  have  not  a  fair  proportion  of  sand  ;  and  the 
beer,  for  ingredients,  colour,  and  taste,  is  different  from  any 
liquor  known  in  New  England. 

If  the  luckless  traveller  is  constrained  to  lodge  in  a  place 
without  city  walls  and  conveniences,  he  must  fain  content 
him  with  liottenftt  accommodation.  Fortunately,  the  cities 
are  frequent,  and  in  them  there  is  less  that  is  revolting.  But 
even  in  Jena,  Heidelberg,  Worms,  and  elsewhere,  we  are 
glad  to  seize  on  historical  and  literary  recollections,  to  escape 
froin  the  less  agreeable  circumstances,  that  press  on  our  im- 
mediate observation. 


a 

i 


^     fc 


Lesson  71.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  187 

The  villages  are,  in  general,  insufferably  dirty.  Often- 
times, the  only  road,  through  the  closely  crammed  hovels, 
serves  at  once,  by  a  happy  economy,  as  a  passage  for  the 
inhabitants,  and  a  channel  for  a  brook.  If  there  be  a  pond, 
or  puddle,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  a  village,  the  children  are 
sure  to  be  paddling  in  it.  This  custom  is,  hovi^ever,  by  no 
means,  confined  to  the  rustick  urchins.  I  see  almost  every 
day,  the  future  burghers  of  Gottingen  washing  themselves  in 
the  gutter,  wading  in  it,  and  spattering  each  other  with  the 
water.  It  appears  to  be  something  innate ;  they  take  to  the 
gutter  as  naturally  as  the  ducks. 

One  walk  through  the  market,  where  the  peasant  women 
sit,  with  their  baskets  full  of  the  various  articles,  destined  to 
be  eaten  and  drunk,  would  furnish  many  particulars,  which 
we  should  be  glad  to  forget.  Even,  as  to  ordinary  neatness 
of  dress  and  person,  I  cannot  easily  credit  all  I  have  heard, 
nor  could  you  all  I  have  seen.  But  these,  are  no  very  invit- 
ing topicks,  and  I  know  I  shall  be  pardoned  for  not  entering 
into  further  details. 

Something,  much  more  agreeable,  is  the  universal  taste 
for  musick.  Instrumental  musick,  in  particular,  is  carried 
to  very  high  perfection.  Piano-fortes,  and  organs,  are  to  be 
found  even  in  the  houses  of  common  mechanicks,  who  can 
hardly  command  the  comforts  of  life.  Nor  do  females  alone 
lerform  on  them.  One  of  my  first  acquaintances,  was  a 
heological  professor,  who  has  a  fine  instrument  in  his  study. 
They  are  also  in  the  rooms  of  many  students.  The  German 
military  bands,  are  the  finest  in  Europe.  Since  the  occupa- 
tion of  Naples  by  the  Austrians,  one  of  the  most  favourite 
amusements  of  these  light-hearted  people,  has  been,  going  to 
hear  a  choice  band  of  Bohemians,  attached  to  the  garrison, 
who  play  every  Thursday  evening. 

Some  may  doubt,  whether  it  be  a  cause  or  a  consequence 
of  this  taste,  that  in  every  village  school,  the  two  grand 
requisites  in  a  teacher,  are,  that  he  be  able  to  instruct  in 
reading  and  psalm-singing.  So,  every  body  knows  how  to 
sing.  The  students  often  make  the  streets  ring  with  their 
boisterous  musick.  Even  the  children,  intermix  regular 
«ongs  with  their  holiday  sports  ;  and,  I  have  often  been 
pleased,  with  listening  to  a  joyous  concert,  from  a  party  of 
mechanicks,  going  home  from  their  day's  work,  in  the  city, 
to  some  of  the  neighbouring  villages. 

It  is  a  custom  in  some  parts  of  the  country,  at  the  festivals 
©f  Michaelmas  and  Easter,  for  the  instructer,  followed  by  his 


188  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  7ii. 

scholars,  dressed  in  their  neatest  clothing,  to  go  from  house 
to  house,  and  sing  some  piece  of  musick  before  each,  in  the 
pubiick  street.  The  occupants  of  the  house  are  of  course 
expected  to  put  something  into  the  box  of  the  party.  In  the 
little  city  of  Chemnitz,  not  far  from  Dresden,  I  have  heard 
some  very  pleasing  musick  from  such  a  choir.  The  boys 
were  of  various  ages,  and  in  addition  to  the  charm  of  their 
clear  youthful  voices,  gave  proof  of  having  been  well  instruct- 
ed. There  is  something  remarkable  in  tliis  national  coinci- 
dence of  taste. 


LESSON  LXXIL 
Mozarfs  Requiem, — U.  S.  Literary  Gazette. 

The  tongue  of  the  vigilant  clock  tolled  one, 

In  a  deep  and  hollow  tone ; 
The  shrouded  moon  looked  out  upon 
A  cold,  dank  region,  more  cheerless  and  dun, 

By  her  lurid  light  that  shone. 

Mozart  now  rose  from  a  restless  bed, 

And  his  heart  was  sick  with  care  ; 
Though  long  had  he  wooingly  sought  to  wed 
Sweet  Sleep,  't  was  in  vain,  for  the  coy  maid  fled, 

Though  he  followed  her  every  where. 

He  knelt  to  the  God  of  his  worship  then, 

And  breathed  a  fervent  prayer  ; 
'T  was  balm  to  his  soul,  and  he  rose  again 
With  a  strengthened  spirit,  but  started  ;  when 

He  marked  a  stranger  there  ! 

He  was  tall,  this  stranger,  who  gazed  on  him, 

Wrapped  high  in  a  sable  shroud  ; 
His  cheek  was  pale,  and  his  eye  was  dim, 
And  the  melodist  trembled  in  every  limb, 

The  while  his  heart  beat  loud. 

"  Mozart  ! — there  is  one,  whose  errand  I  bear, 

'*  Who  cannot  be  known  to  thee ; 
**  He  grieves  for  a  friend,  and  would  have  thee  prepare 


i 


Lesson  1%]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  18« 

*'  A  Requiem,  blending  a  mournful  air 
**  With  the  sweetest  melody  !" 

'*  ril  furnish  the  Requiem  then,"  he  cried, 

''When  this  moon  has  waned  away  !" 
The  stranger  bowed,  yet  no  word  replied, 
But  fled  like  the  shade  on  a  mountain's  side, 

When  the  sunlight  hides  its  ray. 

Mozart  grew  pale  when  the  vision  fled, 

And  his  heart  beat  high  with  fear  ; 
He  knew  't  was  a  messenger  sent  from  the  dead, 
To  warn  him,  that  soon  he  must  make  his  bed 

In  the  dark,  chill  sepulchre. 

He  knew  that  the  days  of  his  life  were  told, 

And  his  breast  grew  faint  within  ; 
The  blood  through  his  bosom  crept  slowly  and  cold. 
And  his  lamp  of  life  could  barely  hold 

The  flame,  that  was  flickering. 


► 


Yet  he  went  to  his  task  with  a  cheerful  zeal, 

While  his  days  and  nights  were  one ; 
He  spoke  not,  he  moved  not,  but  only  to  kneel 
With  the  holy  prayer—*'  Oh  God  !  I  feel, 
'T  is  best  thy  will  be  done !" 

He  gazed  on  his  loved  one,  who  cherished  him  well. 

And  weepingly  hung  o'er  him  : 
''  This  musick  will  chime  with  my  funeral  knell, 
"  And  my  spirit  shall  float,  at  the  passing  bell, 

''  On  the  notes  of  this  Requiem  !" 

The  cold  moon  waned — on  that  cheerless  day^ 

The  stranger  appeared  once  more  ; 
Mozart  had  finished  his  Requiem  lay, 
But  e'er  the  last  notes  had  died  away, 

His  spirit  had  gone  before  I 


190  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  73. 

LESSON  LXXIIL 

Description  of  the  general  appearance  of  England, — A.  H. 
Everett. 

But  whatever  may  be  the  extent  of  the  distress  in  Eni^land, 
or  the  difficalty  of  finding  any  remedies  for  it,  which  shall  be 
at  once  practicable  and  sufficient,  it  is  certain,  that  the  symp- 
toms of  decline  have  not  yet  displayed  themselves  on  the 
surface  ;  and  no  country  in  Europe,  at  the  ])resent  day,  pro- 
bably none  that  ever  flourished  at  any  preceding  period  of 
ancient,  or  of  modern  times,  exliibited  so  strongly  the  out- 
ward marks  of  general  industry,  wealth,  and  prosperity.  The 
misery  that  exists,  whatever  it  may  be,  retires  from  publick 
view ;  and  the  traveller  sees  no  traces  of  ii  except  in  the  beg- 
gars, that  are  not  more  numerous  than  they  are  on  the  conti- 
nent, in  the  courts  of  justice,  and  in  the  newspapers.  On 
the  contrary,  the  impressions  he  receives  from  the  objects  that 
meet  his  view,  are  almost  uniformly  agrei  able. 

He  is  pleased  with  the  great  attention  paid  to  his  personal 
accommodation,  as  a  traveller,  with  the  excellent  roads,  and 
the  convenience  of  the  publick  carriages  and  inns.  The 
country  every  where,  exhibits  the  appearance  of  high  cultiva- 
tion, or  else  of  wild  and  picturesque  beauty ;  and  ieven  the 
unimproved  lands  are  disposed  with  taste  and  skill,  so  as 
embellish  the  landscape  very  highly,  if  they  do  not  contribut 
as  they  might,  to  the  substantial  comfort  of  the  people.  From 
every  eminence,  extensive  parks,  and  grounds,  spreading  far 
and  wide  over  hill  and  vale,  interspersed  with  dark  woods, 
and  variegated  with  bright  waters,  unroll  themselves  before 
the  eye,  like  enchanted  gardens.  And  while  the  elegant 
constructions  of  the  modern  proprietors  fill  the  mind  with 
images  of  ease  and  luxury,  the  mouldering  ruins,  that  remain 
from  former  ages,  of  the  castles  and  churclies  of  their  feudal 
ancestors,  increase  the  interest  of  the  picture  by  contrast, 
and  associate  with  it  poetical  and  affecting  recollections  of 
other  times  and  manners. 

Every  village  seems  to  be  the  chosen  residence  of  industry, 
and  her  handmaids,  neatness  and  comfort ;  and  in  the  various 
parts  of  the  island,  her  operations  present  themselves  under 
the  most  amusing  and  agreeable  variety  of  forms.  Some- 
times her  votaries  are  mounting  to  the  skies,  in  manu- 
factories of  innumerable  stories  in  height,  and  sometimes 
diving  in  mines,  into  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  or  dragging  up 


a- 

iie^ 

4 


Lesson  73.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  191 

drowned  treasures  from  the  bottom  of  the  sea.  At  one  time, 
the  ornamented  grounds  of  a  wealthy  proprietor  seem  to 
realize  the  fabled  Elysium  ;  and  again,  as  you  pass  in  the 
evening,  through  some  village,  engaged  in  the  iron  manufac- 
tory, where  a  thousand  forges  are  feeding  at  once  their  dark 
red  fires,  and  clouding  the  air  with  their  volumes  of  smoke, 
you  might  think  yourself  for  a  moment,  a  little  too  near  some 
drearier  residence. 

The  aspect  of  the  cities  is  as  various,  as  that  of  the  coun- 
try. Oxford,  in  the  silent,  solemn  grandeur  of  its  numerous 
collegiate  palaces,  with  their  massy  stone  walls  and  vast  inte- 
riour  quadrangles,  seems  like  the  deserted  capital  of  some 
departed  race  of  giants.  This  is  the  splendid  sepulchre, 
where  science,  like  the  Roman  Tarpeia,  lies  buried  under  the 
weight  of  gold,  that  rewarded  her  ancient  services,  and 
where  copious  libations  of  the  richest  port  and  Madeira  are 
daily  poured  out  to  her  memory.  At  Liverpool,  on  the  con- 
trary, all  is  bustle,  brick,  and  business.  Every  thing  breathes  of 
modern  times ;  every  body  is  occupied  with  the  concerns  of 
the  present  moment,  excepting  one  excellent  scholar,  who 
unites  a  singular  resemblance  to  the  Roman  face  and  dignifi- 
ed person  of  our  Washington,  with  the  magnificent  spirit  and 
intellectual  accomplishments  of  his  own  Italian  hero. 

At  every  change  in  the  landscape,  you  fall  upon  the  monu* 
ents  of  some  new  race  of  men,  among  the  number,  that 
ave  in  their  turn,  inhabited  these  islands.  The  mysterious 
monument  of  Stonehenge,  standing  remote  and  alone,  upon  a 
bare  and  boundless  heath,  as  much  unconnected  with  the 
events  of  past  ages,  as  it  is  with  the  uses  of  the  present,  carries 
you  back  beyond  all  historical  records,  into  the  obscurity  of  a 
wholly  unknown  period.  Perhaps  the  Druids  raised  it ;  but 
by  what  machinery  could  these  half  barbarians  have  wrought 
and  moved  such  immense  masses  of  rock  ?  By  what  fatality 
is  it,  that  in  every  part  of  the  globe,  the  most  durable  im- 
pressions, that  have  been  made  upon  its  surface,  were  the 
work  of  races  now  entirely  extinct  ?  Who  were  the  builders 
of  the  pyramids,  and  the  massy  monuments  of  Egypt  and 
India  1  Who  constructed  the  Cyclopean  walks  of  Italy  and 
Greece,  or  elevated  the  innumerable  and  inexplicable  mounds, 
which  are  seen  in  every  part  of  Europe,  Asia,  and  America  ; 
or  the  ancient  forts  upon  the  Ohio,  on  whose  ruins  the  third 
growth  of  trees  is  now  more  than  four  hundred  years  old  ? 
All  these  constructions  have  existed,  through  the  whole 
period  within  the  memory  of  man ;  and  will  continue  when 


192  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  73. 

all  the  architecture  of  the  present  generation,  with  its  high 
cultivation  and  improved  machinery,  shall  have  crumbled 
into  dust.  Stonehenge  will  remain  unchanged,  when  the 
banks  of  the  Thames  shall  be  as  bare  as  Salisbury  heath. 

But  the  Romans  had  something  of  the  spirit  of  these  prim- 
itive builders,  and  they  left  every  where  distinct  traces  of 
their  passage.  Half  the  castles  in  Great  Britain  were  found- 
ed, according  to  tradition,  by  Julius  Caesar  ;  and  abundant 
vestiges  remain  throughout  tlie  island,  of  their  walls  and  forts 
and  military  roads.  Most  of  their  castles,  have,  howe\er, 
been  built  upon  and  augmented,  at  a  later  period,  and  belong 
with  more  propriety,  to  the  brilliant  epoch  of  the  Gothick 
architecture.  Thus  the  keep  of  Warwick,  dates  from  the 
time  of  Caesar,  while  the  castle  itself,  with  its  lofty  battlements, 
extensive  walls,  and  large  enclosures,  bears  witness  to  the 
age,  when  every  Norman  chief  was  a  military  despot,  within 
his  own  barony. 

To  this  period,  appertain  the  principal  part  of  the  magnifi- 
cent Gothick  monuments,  castles,  cathedrals,  abbeys,  priories, 
and  churches ;  in  various  stages  of  preservation  and  of 
ruin  ;  some,  like  Warwick  and  Alnwick  castles,  like  Salis- 
bury cathedral  and  Westminster  abbey,  in  all  their  origi- 
nal perfection  ;  others,  like  Kenilworth  and  Canterbury 
little  more  than  a  rude  mass  of  earth  and  rubbish  ;  and 
others,  again,  in  the  intermediate  stages  of  decay,  borrowing 
a  sort  of  charm  from  their  very  ruin,  and  putting  on  thei 
dark  green  robes  of  ivy,  to  conceal  the  ravages  of  time,  as 
if  the  luxuriant  bounty  of  nature  were  purposely  throwing  a 
veil  over  the  frailty  and  feebleness  of  art. 

What  a  beautiful  and  brilliant  vision  was  this  Gothick 
architecture,  shining  out,  as  it  did,  from  the  deepest  darkness 
of  feudal  barbarism  !  And  here,  again,  by  what  fatality  has 
it  happened,  that  the  moderns,  with  all  their  civilization  and 
improved  taste,  have  been  as  utterly  unsuccessful  in  rivalling 
the  divine  simplicity  of  the  Greeks,  as  the  rude  grandeur  of 
the  Cyclopeans  and  ancient  Egyptians  ?  Since  the  revival  of 
art  in  Europe,  the  builders  have  confined  themselves  wholly 
to  a  graceless  and  unsuccessful  imitation  of  ancient  models. 
Strange  that  the  only  new  architectural  conception  of  any 
value,  subsequent  to  the  time  of  Phidias,  should  have  been 
struck  out  at  the  worst  period  of  society,  that  has  since 
occurred. 

Sometimes,  the  modeTns,  in  their  laborious  poverty  of  in- 
vention, heap  up  small  materials  in  large  masses,  and  think 


IS     ^ 


Lesson  74.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  103 

that  St.  Peter's  or  St.  Paul's  will  be  as  mucli  more  sublime 
than  the  Parthenon,  as  they  are  larger  ;  at  others,  they  conde- 
scend to  a  servile  imitation  of  the  wild  and  native  graces  of 
the  Gothick ;  as  the  Chinese,  in  their  stupid  ignorance  of 
perspective,  can  still  copy,  line  by  line,  and  point  by  point,  a 
European  picture.  But  the  Norman  castles  and  churches, 
with  all  their  richness  and  sublimity,  fell  with  the  power  of 
their  owners,  at  the  rise  of  the  commonwealth. 

The  independents  were  levellers  of  substance,  as  well  as 
form ;  and  the  material  traces  they  left  of  their  existence, 
are  the  ruins  of  what  their  predecessors  had  built.  They 
too,  had  an  architecture,  but  it  was  not  in  wood  nor  stone. 
It  was  enough  for  them  to  lay  the  foundation  of  the  nobler 
fabrick  of  civil  liberty.  The  effects  of  the  only  change  in 
society,  that  has  since  occurred,  are  seen  in  the  cultivated 
fields,  the  populous  and  thriving  cities,  the  busy  ports,  and 
the  general  prosperous  appearance  of  the  country. 


LESSON  LXXIV. 

The  Field  of  Waterloo, — Anonymous. 

It  struck  my  imagination  much,  while  standing  on  the 
last  field  fought  by  Bonaparte,  that  the  battle  of  Waterloo 
should  have  been  fought  upon  a  Sunday.  What  a  different 
scene  for  the  Scotch  Greys  and  English  Infantry,  from  that, 
which  at  that  very  hour,  was  exhibited  by  their  relatives  ; 
when  over  England  and  Scotland,  each  church-bell  had 
drawn  together  its  worshippers  !  while  many  a  mother's  heart 
was  sending  upward  a  prayer,  for  her  son's  preservation,  per- 
haps that  son  was  gasping  in  agony. 

Yet,  even  at  such  a  period,  the  lessons  of  his  early  days 
might  give  him  consolation  ;  and  the  maternal  prayer  might 
prepare  the  heart  to  support  maternal  anguish.  It  is  religion 
alone,  which  is  of  universal  application,  both  as  stimulant 
and  lenitive,  as  it  is  the  varied  heritage  of  man  to  labour  or 
endure.  But  we  know  that  many  thousands  rushed  into  this 
fight,  even  of  those,  v/lio  had  been  instructed  in  our  own  re- 
ligious principles,  without  leisure  for  one  serious  thought ; 
and  that  some  officers  were  killed  in  their  ball  dresses.  They 
made  the  leap  into  the  gulf,  which  divides  two  worlds,  the 
17 


194  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  75. 

present  from  the  immutable  state,  without  one  parting  prayer, 
or  one  note  of  preparation  ! 

As  I  looked  over  this  field,  now  green  with  growing  corn, 
I  could  observe  spots,  where  the  most  desperate  carnage  had 
been  marked  out  by  the  verdure  of  the  wheat.  The  bodies 
had  been  heaped  together,  and  scarcely  more  than  covered. 
And  so  enriched  is  the  soil,  that  in  these  spots,  the  grain  never 
ripens ;  it  grows  rank  and  green  to  the  end  of  the  harvest. 
This  touching  memorial,  which  endures  when  the  thousand 
groans  have  expired,  and  when  the  stain  of  human  blood 
has  faded  from  the  ground,  still  seems  to  cry  to  Heaven,  that 
there  is  awful  guilt  somewhere,  and  a  terrifick  reckoning,  for 
those  who  have  caused  destruction,  which  the  earth  will  not 
conceal.  These  hillocks  of  superabundant  vegetation,  as 
the  wind  rustled  through  the  corn,  seemed  the  most  affecting 
monuments,  which  nature  could  devise,  and  gave  a  melan- 
choly animation  to  this  plain  of  death. 

When  we  attempt  to  measure  the  mass  of  suffering,  which 
was  here  inflicted,  and  to  number  the  individuals  that  have 
fallen,  considering  that  each,  who  suffered,  was  our  fellow- 
man,  we  are  overwhelmed  with  the  agonizing  calculation, 
and  retire  from  the  field,  which  has  been  the  scene  of  our 
reflections,  with  the  simple  concentrated  feeling ; — these 
armies  once  lived,  breathed,  and  felt  like  us,  and  the  time  is 
at  hand,  when  we  shall  be  like  them. 


LESSON  LXXV. 

The  Trooper's  Dirge. — U.  S.  Literary  Gazette. 

To  horse, — to  horse, — the  bugles  call. 

And  sadly  swells  the  mournful  strain, 
That  warns  us  to  the  burial 

Of  one  who  ne'er  shall  mount  again. 
His  course  is  run, — -his  fame  is  won, —     • 

For  well  he  reined  as  free  a  steed 

As  ever  bore  to  daring  deed, 
J'    When  charging  hosts  came  spurring  on. 

His  course  i^  run, — his  battles  done, — 
He  died  as  aye  he  wished  to  die, — 

The  well-fought  field  was  fairly  won, 
And  Victory  pealed  her  clarion  nigh ; 


Les^n  76.]         AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  195 

Nor  on  his  lip  of  beauteous  pride, 
When  high  in  hope,  he  rode  among 
The  brave,  the  noble,  and  the  young, 

Wreathed  such  a  smile  as  when  he  died. 

Stern  eyes  became,  as  woman's,  weak, 

Nor  scorned  to  soil  the  clustering  gold, 
That  floated  o'er  his  marble  cheek 

With  tears  that  would  not  be  controled. 
For  though  none  bolder  struck  with  brand 

When  boiling  veins  were  up  and  wild, 

Yet  never  even  the  gentlest  child 
Had  kinder  heart  or  freer  hand. 

To  horse, — to  horse, — no  more  I  weep  ; 

His  high  career  was  run  full  fast. 
And  so  on  battle-field  I'd  sleep 

My  last  long  sleep  of  death  at  last. 
No  more  I  weep, — but  far  away 

Are  deep  blue  eyes  to  weep  in  vain, — 

Fair  lips  not  soon  to  smile  again, — 
And  hearts  wail  to  this  bitter  day. 


'      LESSON  LXXVI. 

General    appearance  of  the    Campania  Felix,  in    Italy, — 
Anonymous. 

This  tract  of  country  formed  part  of  the  *  Campania  Felix' 
of  the  Romans,  and  to  my  eyes  bears  no  indications  of  having 
lost  any  of  that  fertility,  which  in  ancient  times  rendered  it 
famous  for  the  richness  and  abundance  of  its  productions.  It 
was  in  a  good  degree,  the  luxuries  supplied  by  this  soil,  which 
rendered  the  bay  of  Naples  the  resort  of  the  wealthy  Romans 
under  the  empire ;  and  I  should  be  slow  to  believe  that  the 
soil  alone  has  degenerated.  In  modern  days  it  has  been  re- 
peatedly sprinkled  with  volcanick  ashes  from  Mount  Vesuvius ; 
but  this  should  increase  its  fertility,  for  the  best  wine  in  the 
neighbourhood  is  made  on  the  mountain  itself. 

No,  it  is  the  inhabitants,  or  rather  I  should  say  the  govern- 
ment, under  which  they  live,  that  has  produced  the  change. 
The  labourers,  apparently  living  under  the  full  rigour  of  the 


196  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  76. 

feudal  and  the  pontifical  systems  combined,  are  crowded  to- 
gether in  little  dirty  villages,  basely  ignorant  and  humiliated, 
without  the  power  and  without  the  disposition  to  improve  : 
while  the  inellow  and  luscious  fruits  of  their  toil  are  sent  to 
the  palace  and  villa  of  the  indolent  and  vicious  landholder, 
or  the  overflowing  treasury  of  some  church  or  convent — the 
abodes  of  sloth  and  vacmty.  =^  *  *  * 

The  villuges  tiirough  which  we  passed,  bore  the  strongest 
marks  of  a  poor  and  degraded  population.  Some  of  them 
must  contain  tive  or  six  tliousand  people  ;  yet  the  houses  were 
low  and  ;:mall,  and  many  of  them,  I  will  venture  to  say,  not 
built  since  the  discovery  of  America.  The  windows  sliowed 
vaciint  and  dirty  faces,  the  doors,  ill-furnished  rooms,  and 
heavy  stone  walls  and  floors  deeply  worn  by  the  feet  and  hands 
of  numerous  generations.  Nothing  like  a  new  house,  nor 
even  an  improved  or  repaired  one,  was  to  be  seen ;  and  I 
made  up  my  mind  while  passing  on,  that  not  one  of  the  men 
I  saw,  looked  capable  of  making  a  chair  or  a  window-shutter, 
or  even  of  putting  a  new  button  on  his  door. — The  streets 
had  once  been  paved,  but  the  stones  generally  lay  loose  in  the 
dust,  and  did  more  harm  than  good.  Now  and  then  we  pass- 
ed the  high  wails  of  some  forbidden  ground,  the  premises  of 
a  petty  title-bearer,  or  the  garden  of  some  convent ;  but  every 
thing  was  concealed  except  the  tops  of  the  nearest  trees,  and 
nothing  but  the  owners  and  the  birds  could  conjecture  at 
what  they  contained. 

It  was  an  after-thought  with  me,  to  draw  a  comparison 
between  these  villages  and  our  American  towns,  for  there 
was  nothing  to  make  me  think  of  it  at  the  time.  The  houses 
were  as  closely  built  as  those  of  a  city,  and  the  streets  as  narrow 
and  uncomfortable.  There  was  no  neat  and  tasteful  mansion, 
which  might  be  the  residence  of  the  lawyer,  the  physician, 
or  the  clergyman,  and  there  was  not  a  single  brushed  coat  or 
tidy  gown  in  the  street,  to  discountenance  the  universal  pov- 
erty and  slovenliness.  *  *  *  * 

No  one  indeed,  can  cast  a  most  hasty  glance  about  him,  with- 
out being  convinced  that  the  state  of  society  is  entirely  different 
from  that  among  ourselves,  and  so  different  as  to  make  him 
doubt  what  sort  of  change  would  ultimately  prove  most  benefi- 
cial to  the  country.  The  people  are  ignorant  and  poor. 
Under  the  present  state  of  things,  they  will  always  remain  so. 
Overthrow  the  moral  oppression  of  the  priesthood,  and  the 
political  oppression  of  the  lords,  and  you  will  make  it  possible 
for  thejn  to  improve. 


Lesson  77.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  197 

But  what  sort  of  government  should  be  established  in  tho 
mean  time  ?  There  must  be  an  interval  and  a  long  one  too, 
between  the  establishment  of  a  new  and  better  system,  and 
the  securing  of  that  system  by  a  proportionate  improvement . 
in  the  people.  It  must  be  a  government,  which  will  not  only 
protect  the  lives,  the  property,  and  the  independence  of  its 
subjects,  but  which  will  improve  their  minds  and  their  habits. 

Now  in  what  proportion  should  be  mingled  the  ordinary 
elements  of  a  supreme  power  ?  The  people  will  make  but  a 
sorry  figure  at  legislation  for  some  time  yet  to  come,  if  we  may 
judge  from  their  appearance,  when  at  their  daily  occupations ; 
and  will  the  monarchical  or  the  aristocratical  branches  of  the 
national  tree  cherish  and  protect  the  infant  shoot,  for  the 
express  purpose  of  allowing  it  to  rise  high  above  and  over- 
shadow themselves  ?  This  has  not  been  the  inclination  usually 
shown  by  them  in  other  countries,  but  it  must  be  so  here,  or, 
for  ought  I  can  see,  the  Neapolitan  people  are  likely  to  gain 
little  by  the  revolution. 


LESSON  LXXVII. 

Rural  adventure  in  Italy, — Anonymous. 

As  the  old  priest  had  now  gone  away,  the  little  girl  walked 
slowly  towards  me,  looking  by  turns  at  the  cattle  and  the 
stranger,  and  knitting  very  sedately.  *  Is  this  the  church  of 
St.  Lorenzo,  little  girl  ?  '  Signer  si  [yes  sir,]  will  you  go  in 
and  see  it  ?  Shall  I  go  and  call  brother  Luigi  back  V  '  No, 
no,  I  have  no  time  to  spare — You  have  some  fine  oxen  yon- 
der.' *Yes,  sir,  they  are  very  good  and  quiet.  They  let  me 
take  care  of  them,  and  do  every  thing  I  tell  them,  although  I 
am  a  little  girl.  There  are  only  nine  now ;  the  other  has 
gone  away — the  companion  of  that  you  see  on  the  little  bank. 
I  don't  believe  you  ever  saw  better  oxen,  sir.  Only  observe 
what  a  good  grey  colour  they  have  :  that  is  the  best  colour  for 
oxen.' 

She  wore  a  bonnet  made  of  coarse  braided  straw,  and  car- 
ried another  tied  to  her  arm.  She  had  a  most  amiable  little 
face,  and  I  thought  might  have  been  taken  for  a  New  England 
child,  even  to  the  crooked,  rusty  knitting-needles  she  had  in 
her  hands.  The  stocking,  however,  was  of  brown  thread ; 
her  knitting-sheath  a  hollow  stick,  (perhaps  elder),  and  when 
she  spoke  it  was  only  Italian. 


198  CLASS  BOOK  OP  [Lesson  77. 

*  Is  that  your  first  stocking  V  '  Signer  no — I  have  knit  a 
whole  pair  before  this,  for  you  will  perceive  I  can  knit  almost 
all  day  while  the  weather  is  so  clear  and  warm,  though  I  am 
sometimes  interrupted  when  the  oxen  stray,  and  very  often  by 
my  little  sister  you  see  there,  running  up  to  us  with  her  hair 
flying.  She  is  not  my  sister  either,  but  the  daughter  of  my 
mother-in-law.  Her  name  is  Maria — I  am  Teresa — Ah, 
Maria  !  AVhere  have  you  been  to  get  your  cheeks  so  red  ? 
Come  here,  and  put  on  your  bonnet.' 

But  the  bright-eyed  little  girl  refused  and  resisted,  from 
mere  excess  of  spirits;  and  though  more  wild  and  roguish, 
was  quite  as  good  natured  as  her  sister.  *  There,  signor,  you 
see  what  a  trouble  she  is  :  she  won't  mind  me.  She  is  very 
bad,  do  you  not  think  so  ? — But  would  not  you  like  to  go  in 
and  see  the  church,  sir  ?  You  will  find  the  chapel  of  San 
Fabiano,  and  that  of  San  Sebastiano  over  his  own  tomb.  Oh, 
they  are  very  beautiful.  You  can  see  the  catacombs  too,  sir, 
where  all  the  christians  were  buried  ;  and  if  brother  Luigi 
were  only  here — I'll  ring  the  bell,  and  then  he'll  come  back, 
and  tell  you  a  great  deal  about  them.  He  knows  all  the 
chapels,  and  the  statues  and  the  pictures,  and  where  the 
christians  used  to  pray  under  ground,  and  bury  the  martyrs.' 

I  was  too  much  in  haste,  and  contented  myself  with  a  hasty 
glance  at  tlie  interiour  of  the  church,  without  waiting  for  the 
catacombs  to  be  opened,  concerning  which,  my  book  confirm- 
ed the  words  of  my  little  friend.  As  I  came  out,  she  asked 
mo  for  some  money,  though  with  a  downcast  look,  and  an 
actual  blush,  which,  on  account  of  its  rarity,  speedily  atoned 
for  a  specimen  of  that  avarice  far  more  common  in  tliis 
country. 

*  How  can  you  ask  me  for  any  thing,'  said  I  '  when  you 
have  nine  large  oxen  like  those,  and  1  have  not  one,  and  never 
had  any.'  *  Please  to  bear  in  mind,  signer,'  she  answered, 
coming  nearer  w  ith  her  needle  pointed  at  me — *  Please  to 
bear  in  mind,  that  they  are  not  my  oxen.  They  belong  to 
Giuseppe  [Joseph],  a  gentleman  who  leaves  them  with  us,  to 
be  taken  care  of,  and  pays  us  very  little  for  it.  Giuseppe 
lives  in  Rome.  My  house  is  only  a  little  way  from  hero. 
Will  you  go  and  see  it  ?  Come,  I  will  show  it  you. — Thank 
you,  signor. — But  if  you  don't  give  Maria  some  money  too,  1 
am  afraid  she  will  cry.'  Maria  did  indeed  begin  to  look  sor- 
rowful, and  was  just  about  to  cry — or,  as  Teresa  expressed  it, 
to  set  herself  to  weeping — but  she  could  not  dissemble,  and 
broke  out  in  a  broad  laugh,  while  Teresa  bade  me  '  addio'  with 
:i  sweet  smile. 


LeBson  78.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  199 

LESSON  LXXVIII. 

llie  Bay  of  Naples.— T,  W.  Stone. 

See  how  the  peaceful  ripple  breaks, 
In  calmness  on  the  verdant  shore, 
While  Zephyr,  gently  breathing,  wakes 
The  slumbering  spirit  of  each  flower, 
Which  glows  in  beauteous  brilliancy, 
Along  the  margin  of  the  tide, 
And  oft  arrests  the  wandering  eye, 
As  o'er  the  waves  we  gently  glide. 

Let  us  unfold  the  swelling  sail. 
Beneath  the  silent,  silvery  moon  ; 
And  catch  the  softly  murmuring  gale, 
Which  breathes  in  midnight's  solemn  noon. 
And  thou,  my  friend,  shalt  guide  us  now 
Along  the  bosom  of  the  bay,  ' 
While  seated  on  the  lofty  prow 
We  mark  the  ripple,  that  our  way 
Leaves  on  the  waters,  like  the  streak 
Of  morning,  on  an  Alpine  height. 
When  Sol's  first  radiant  day  beams  break, 
In  all  the  glow  of  infant  light. 

What  sounds  resound  along  the  shores  1 
What  echoes  wake  from  off  the  seas  ! 
While  musick  from  Italian  bowers. 
Comes  mingled  with  the  evening  breeze  ; 
The  careless  sailor  floats  along, 
Siov/  wafted  by  the  ebbing  flood. 
And  swells  the  chorus  of  the  song, 
Wliich  joyous  peals  from  hill  and  wood. 
And  laughing  bands  of  youth  are  there^ 
Who  deftly  dance  to  lightest  measure, 
And  sea,  and  shore,  and  earth,  and  air, 
Resound  to  mellow  notes  of  pleasure. 

But,  ah  !  'tis  past ;  a  deeper  brown 
Has  tinged  the  foliage  of  the  wood, 
Vesuvius'  mighty  shadows  trown. 
Majestically  o'er  the  flood ; 


200  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  79. 

The  moon  has  set,  and  shadowy  sleep 
Now  holds  dominion  o'er  mankind, 
Binding  in  slumber's  vision  deep, 
The  force  of  thought  and  power  of  mind. 

In  shadowy  grandeur,  now  appears, 
The  genius  of  the  olden  time, 
And  marks  the  ravages  of  years 
In  her  once  highly  favoured  clime  ; 
Sad  on  the  ruins  of  the  past, 
Dark  melancholy  broods  alone ; 
Marking  the  wreck  of  temples  vast, 
The  ruined  shrine  and  altar  stone. 

Fair  land  !  where  ofl,  in  days  of  yore, 
The  hymns  of  liberty  were  sung  ; 
Thy  boasted  empire's  now  no  more, 
Thy  lyre  of  freedom  all  unstrung. 
But,  still  the  spirit  loves  to  tread 
Where  sleep  the  great  of  ages  ended, 
For,  musing  on  the  mighty  dead. 
They  seem  with  all  thy  scenery  blended. 
They  seem  to  whisper  in  thy  trees, 
They  seem  to  flit  along  thy  mountains. 
They  seem  to  float  in  evening's  breeze. 
They  seem  to  haunt  thy  limpid  fountains. 


LESSON  LXXIX. 

Ruins  of  Paestum  in  Italy. — Anonymous. 

Few  places  combine,  within  such  narrow  limits,  so  rich  a 
train  of  various  meditation,  for  persons,  of  whatever  disposi- 
tion, or  habit,  as  this  city,  upon  the  Gulf  of  Salerno.  At  a 
point,  removed  from  the  sight  of  civilized  life,  surrounded 
with  the  relicks  of  men,  who  lived  in  the  liighest  stage  of 
luxury,  he  who  can  only  admire  the  skill,  which  raised  an 
architrave,  or  he  who  has  fancy  enough  to  picture  the  liv- 
ing scene  of  a  Grecian  ciiy,  while  sitting  on  its  tomb,  will 
find  no  other  interruption  than  the  rapid  movement,  now  and 
then,  of  a  beautiful  lizard,  which  he  has  startled  from  bask- 
ing in  the  sunshine. 


Lesson  80.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  201 

The  still  sea,  at  a  distance,  and  the  dark  mountains,  upon 
the  opposite  side,  are  both  so  far  away,  that  not  even  the  dash- 
ing of  the  water,  or  the  wandering  of  the  clouds,  distract  the 
soul  from  the  present  vision.  The  noxious  Mal'aria,*  has 
thinned  the  region  of  its  inhabitants,  and  left  it  to  excite,  by 
its  solitude,  an  unbroken  chain  of  musing,  in  one  who,  in  his 
pilgrimage  over  Italy,  pauses  at  this  remote  point. 

It  was  from  Paestum,  that  I  was  to  turn  my  face  home- 
ward. The  eye,  wbich  is  insatiable,  had  beheld  the  choicest 
wonders  of  the  world  ;  and,  it  was  suitable,  that  the  last  ob- 
ject should  be  such  a  ruin,^ — simple,  and  majestick,  like  the 
Pantheon — lasting  as  the  Coliseum — and,  lonely  as  the  track- 
less desert. 

A  journey  in  Italy,  may  be  compared,  not  unaptly,  with 
the  course  of  human  life.  The  plains  of  Lombardy,  and  the 
vale  of  Arno,  are  rich  and  smooth  and  beautiful,  as  youth  ; 
we  come  to  Rome  for  the  sights  and  experience  and  reflec- 
tions, which  suit  manhood  ;  we  return,  after  the  bustle  of 
life,  to  the  comforts  congenial  to  age,  and  which  are  provided 
in  sunshine,  and  air,  and  the  bounties  of  nature,  as  we  find 
them,  at  Naples ;  and,  we  at  last  behold  Paestum,  as  the 
soberest  evening  scene,  which  shuts  up  our  wearisome  pil- 
grimage, and  ends  our  toil. 

The  fate  of  empires,  and  cities,  concerns  us  little,  in  com* 
parison  with  our  own  destiny  ;  for  each  man's  bosom  is  a 
little  world,  and  is  all  the  world  to  him. 


LESSON  LXXX. 

Scene  from  the   Tragedy  of  Brutus. — Payne. 

Sceney  the  camp  before  Ardea. 

\^Enter  Claudius  and  aruns,  laughing.'] 
Aruns.     There  is  no  doctor  for  the  spleen  like  Lucius  ! 
What  precious  scenes  of  folly  did  he  act 
When,  lately,  through  the  unknown  seas  of  Greece 
He  went  with  us  to  Delphi ! — but,  behold  ! 
Where  full  of  business  his  wise  worship  comes  ! 

*  The  Mal'aria,  or  bad  air,  is  a  state  of  the  atmosphere,  or  of  the  soil, 
or  of  both,  in  different  parts  of  Italy,  producing-  in  the  warm  season,  a 
fever,  more  or  less  violent,  according  to  the  nature  of  the  exposure  ;  but 
generally  fatal,  where  the  exposure  has  been  long  continued,  or  the  place 
amongst  the  more  dangerous. — JS'.'A.  Review. 


202  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  80. 

Enter  lucius  Junius. 

Claud.     Whither  so  fast,  good  Junius,  tell  us  whither  1 

Luc,     To  Rome,  to  Rome — the  queen  demands  my  pre- 
sence. 
The  state  needs  aid,  and  I  am  call'd  to  court. 
Am  I  a  Ibol  ?     If  so,  you  cannot  say 
I'm  the  first  fool  grac'd  by  a  monarch's  favour. 

Aruns.     Why,  Junius,  travel  has  improv'd  thy  wit, 
Thou  speakest  shrewdly. 

Luc.     Do  I  so,  my  lord  ? 
I'm  always  glad  when  you  and  I  agree  ; 
You  have  just  such  a  wit  as  I  should  choose. 
Would  I  could  purchase  such ! — though  it  might  split 
My  head,  as  confin'd  air  does — water  bubbles  ! 

Claud.     How  say  you  ]  Purchase  ?  Pr'ythee  what  would'st 
give  ? 

Luc.     What  would  I  give  ? — ^ten  acres  of  my  land  ! 

Aruns.     Thy  land  !     Where  lies  it  ? 

Luc.     Ask  the  king,  my  cousin  ; 
He  knows  fiill  well.     I  thank  him,  he's  my  steward,    * 
And  takes  the  trouble  off  my  hands. 

Claud.     Who  told  thee  so  ? 

Luc.     The  king  himself.     Now  twenty  years  are  past, 
Or  more, — since  he  sent  for  me  from  my  farm. 
**  Kinsman,"  said  he,  with  a  kind,  gracious  smile, 
"For  the  black  crime  of  treason,  which  was  charg'd 
Against  thy  father  and  thy  elder  brother. 
Their  lives  have  paid ;  for  thee,  as  I  love  mercy, 
Live  and  be  happy  ;  simple  is  thy  mind" — 

Aruns.     True,  kinsman,  true — i'faith  'tis  wondrous  simple. 

Luc.     *'  And  that  simplicity  will  be  a  pledge 
That  thou  wilt  never  plot  against  thy  sovereign" — 

Claud.     Indeed,  for  that,  I'll  be  thy  bondsman,  Junius. 

Luc.     **Live  in  my  house,  companion  of  my  children. 
As  for  thy  land,  to  ease  thee  of  all  care, 
I'll  take  it  for  thy  use  ;  all  that  I  ask 
Of  thee,  is  gratitude." 

Aruns.     And  art  thou  not 
Grateful  for  goodness  so  unmerited  ? 

Luc.     Am  I  not  ?     *     *     *     *     never 
Will  I  forget  it !     'Tis  my  constant  pray'r 
To  Heaven,  that  I  may  one  day  have  the  powe^ 
To  pay  the  debt  I  owe  him.     But  stay — stay — 
I  brought  a  message  to  vou  from  the  kinar. 


Ltsson  81.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  203 

Aruns.     Thank  the  gods,  then  for  thy  good  memory,  fool  1 

Luc.     The  king  your  father  sends  for  you  to  council. 
Where  he  debates  how  best  to  conquer  Ardea. 
Shall  I  before,  and  tell  him  ye  are  coming  1 

Claud.     Aye,  or  behind,  or  with  us,  or  stay  here — 
As  thy  wit  prompts, — as  suits  thy  lofty  pleasure. 

[Exit  ARUNS  and  claudius,  laughing, 

Luc.     (alone)     Yet,  'tis  not  that  which  ruffles  me — the 
gibes 
And  scornful  mockeries  of  ill-govern' d  youth — 
Or  flouts  of  dastard  sycophants  and  jesters, 
Reptiles,  who  lay  their  bodies  on  the  dust 
Before  the  frown  of  majesty  ! — All  this 
I  but  expect,  nor  grudge  to  bear  ! — the  face 
I  carry,  courts  it ! — son  of  Marcus  Junius  ! 
When  will  the  tedious  gods  permit  thy  soul 
To  walk  abroad  in  her  own  majesty, 
And  throw  this  vizor  of  thy  madness  from  thee  1 
To  avenge  my  father's  and  my  brother's  murder  ! 
(And  sweet  I  must  confess  would  be  the  draught !) 
Had  this  been  all — a  thousand  opportunities 
I've  had  to  strike  the  blow, — and  my  own  life 
I  had  not  valued  as  a  rush.     But  still — 
There's  something  nobler  to  be  done — my  soul  ! 
Enjoy  the  strong  conception.     Oh  !  'tis  glorious 
To  free  a  groaning  country — 
To  see  revenge 

Spring  like  a  lion  from  its  den,  and  tear 
These  hunters  of  mankind  !  grant  but  the  time, 
Grant  but  the  moment,  gods  !     If  I  am  wanting, 
May  I  drag  out  this  idiot-feigned  life 
To  late  old  age,  and  may  posterity 
Ne'er  hear  of  Junius,  but  as  Tarquin's  fool ! 

[Exit  LUCIUS  JUNIUS. 


LESSON  LXXXI. 

Description  of  the  Prado  of  Madrid. — N.  A.  Review. 

The  Prado  of  Madrid  is,  both  to  Spaniards  and  strangers, 
a  source  of  inexhaustible  amusement.  As  a  publick  walk,  it 
h  one  of  the  finest  within  the  walls  of  any  European  city, 


*^04  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  81. 

finer,  in  most  respects,  than  either  the  Thuilleries  at  Paris,  or 
the  Chiaja  at  Naples.  It  begins  at  the  gate  of  Atocha,  and 
passing  the  magnificent  entrance  of  Alcala,  extends  round  to 
the  gate  and  convent  of  the  Recoletos,  following  the  limits  of 
the  city.  Anciently  it  was  an  uneven  meadow  or  field,  as 
its  name,  like  that  of  the  Prater  at  Vienna,  derived  from  the 
Latin,  pratum,  plainly  shows  ;  and,  while  it  was  in  this  con- 
dition, it  was  famous  as  the  scene  of  most  of  the  plots,  duels, 
murders,  and  intrigues  of  the  city,  as  is,  at  once,  seen  in 
the  old  plays  and  ballads.  It  was  not,  however,  until  the 
middle  of  the  last  century,  when  the  adjacent  palace  of  the 
Buen  Retiro  rose  to  great  favour,  that  Charles  the  Third 
levelled  it,  planted  it  with  trees,  and  made  it  the  beautiful 
walk  it  now  is. 

On  entering  it  from  the  gate  of  Alcala,  or  rather  from  the 
street  of  the  same  name,  the  stranger  finds  himself  in  the 
midst  of  a  superb,  wide  opening,  called  the  saloon ;  on  the 
right  hand  of  which,  is  a  double  walk,  and  on  the  left,  first  a 
broad  drive  for  the  carriages,  wide  enough  for  four  or  fi\e  to 
pass  abreast,  and  afterwards,  another  double  walk  ;  the  whole 
ornamented  with  three  fine  fountains,  and  eight  rows  of  trees, 
.statues,  and  marble  seats. 

During  the  forenoon,  and  nearly  the  whole  of  the  after- 
noon, in  the  fine  season,  no  part  of  the  city  is  so  silent  and 
deserted  as  this  ;  and  yet,  when  the  heat  will  permit,  it  is  a 
spot,  which,  of  all  others  in  Madrid,  is  most  attractive  by  its 
freshness,  its  solitude  and  its  shade.  Between  five  and  six 
o'clock,  the  whole  Prado  is  carefully  watered,  to  prevent  the 
dust,  which  would  otherwise  be  intolerable,  in  a  city  where 
rain  is  very  rare  in  the  summer  season. 

Just  before  sunset,  the  carriages  of  all  Madrid,  and  a  great 
proportion  of  the  population  of  the  city,  begin  to  appear  ; 
and  about  half  an  hour  after  sunset,  the  exhibition  is  in  its 
greatest  splendour.  There  is  nothing  like  it  any  where 
else.  In  the  vast  space  appropriated  to  the  carriages  and 
horsemen,  two  rows  of  coaches,  forming  one  unbroken  line, 
move,  at  a  slow  walk,  up  and  down  on  each  side,  as  they^do 
in  the  Corso  of  Rome,  during  the  carnival,  prevented  by 
their  own  multitude  from  advancing  any  faster  ;  while  the 
king,  the  infantas,  and  the  royal  family,  with  their  guards, 
dash  up  and  down  in  tho  midst,  at  a  full  trot,  in  a  space  kept 
open  for  them,  and  compel  every  body  on  foot,  to  be  un- 
covered, and  every  body  in  a  carriage  to  stop,  and,  however 
awkward  the    manoeuvre  may  be,  to  stand  up. 


Lesson  81.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  205 

But  such  equipages  can  be  found  in  no  other  part  of 
Christendom  ;  such  a  motley  confusion,  or  such  a  strange  and 
incongruous  variety ;  for  the  fashions  of  at  least  three  cen- 
turies, are  confounded  so  completely,  that  it  is  often  difficult 
to  tell  to  which  the  different  parts  belong,  and  impossible  to 
conjecture  how  they  have  been  thus  brought  together. 

First,  perhaps,  comes  along  a  beautiful  coupee,  such  as 
might  be  ventured  at  the  exhibition  of  Longchamp,  or  in 
Hyde  Park,  but  drawn  with  difficulty  by  two  worn  out  mules, 
attached  to  it  by  ropes,  and  with  a  postillion  who  looks  as  if 
he  had  come  down  unchanged,  from  the  reign  of  Ferdinand 
and  Isabella.  Next  follows  a  gothick  looking  chariot,  with- 
out springs,  covered  with  antique  carving  and  gilding,  but 
with  two  fine  Andalusian  steeds,  who  are  kept  with  difficulty 
in  the  grave  and  measured  pace  prescribed  to  all,  while, 
behind  the  vast  machine,  stands  a  light  chasseur  of  the  newest 
pattern,  with  his  feathered  chapeau  de  bras  stuck  affectedly 
under  his  arm.  After  this  comes,  perhaps,  a  broken  down, 
dirty  modern  coach,  painted  on  its  pannels,  with  all  four  footed 
and  creeping  things,  and  seeming  almost  covered  over  with 
laced  lacqueys  ;  and  finally,  follows,  some  ambassador's 
splendid  parade  barouche,  which  makes  all  the  rest  look  dim 
and  mean. 

But  amusing  as  is  the  procession,  which  is  thus  brought 
together  in  the  Prado,  partly  by  the  vanity  of  the  nobility, 
who  have  hardly  any  opportunity  except  this  to  show  them- 
selves, but  chiefly  because  there  is  no  other  drive  in  Madrid, 
or  its  neighbourhood,  it  should  still  be  remembered,  that  the 
prevalent  custom  of  using  mules  instead  of  horses,  which 
extends  even  to  the  royal  family,  and  the  great  proportion  of 
antiquated,  grotesque  carriages,  covered  w^ith  all  forms  of 
vulgar  painting  and  gilding,  prevent  this  part  of  the  exhibi- 
tion from  being  little  else  besides  amusing  to  a  foreigner. 

The  exhibition  on  foot,  however,  in  the  saloon,  and  in  the 
walks  adjacent  to  it,  is  altogether  different.  The  greater 
part  of  the  persons,  who  constitute  it,  are  women  ;  and  the 
national  costume  for  them,  which  all  are  compelled  to  observe, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  the  moment  they  appear 
abroad,  except  in  a  carriage,  is  singularly  adapted  to  produce 
a  picturesqe  effect,  and  by  its  uniformity,  to  conceal  any 
negligence  in  the  dress  of  an  individual.  So  that  a  collection 
of  Spanish  women  in  the  national  costume,  though  taken 
from  all  classes,  often  resembles  the  groups,  that  are  care- 
18 


•206  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  8L 

fully  and  fancifully  collected  in  the  ballet  of  a  grand  opera, 
to  produce  a  stage  effect. 

But  this  effect  is  no  where  so  strikingly  produced,  as  in 
:he  Prado  of  Madrid,  where,  above  all  others,  the  Spanish 
aomeit  delight  to  resort,  and  where  their  peculiar  dress  and 
Manners  can  be  best  exhibited.  The  show  they  make  here, 
>,  indeed,  altogether  unique.  Their  dark  basquina  so  sets 
off  their  passionate  physiognomy,  and  full,  piercing  eyes.; 
there  is  such  grace  and  coquetry  in  all  their  movements,  in 
their  manner  of  wearing  and  flirting  their  beautiful  veils,  and 
of  beckoning  a  salutation  to  their  acquaintance  with  their 
fans,  as  well  as  in  the  neatness  and  skill  with  which  they 
dress  every  part  of  their  persons,  and  particularly  their  feet, 
that  every  time  a  stranger  sees  this  vast  crowd  of  the  Prado, 
mingled  with  the  great  number  of  the  officers  of  the  royal 
guard,  who  are  always  there  in  their  showy  uniforms,  and  the 
j*till  greater  number  of  monks  and  priests,  in  their  dark, 
severe  costumes,  he  must  be  persuaded  anew,  that  it  is  the 
most  beautiful  moving  panorama,  the  world  can  afford. 

At  about  three  quarters  of  an  hour  after  sunset,  when  the. 
rrowd  is  the  greatest,  the  bell  of  the  neighbouring  convent 
tolls  for  the  angelus,  or  evening  prayer,  and  the  long  line  of 
carriages  stops  as  if  by  magick,  while  every  body  on  foot 
becomes  instantly  fixed  as  a  statue,  and  prays,  or  seems  to 
pray,  in  perfect  silence.  The  effect  is  very  striking  ;  for  the 
whole  of  this  immense  crowd,  which  an  instant  before,  sont 
up  a  murmur  like  the  chafing  of  the  distant  ocean,  is  now  as 
^till  as  the  earth  beneath  their  feet ;  but  in  a  moment  after- 
wards, the  busy  hum  and  movement  begin  again,  and  all 
goes  on  as  gaily  as  before.  By  eight  or  nine  o'clock,  how- 
ever, even  in  midsummer,  the  multitude  begins  to  melt  away, 
and  at  ten,  none  but  the  ordinary  passengers  are  met  there  ; 
except  that  sometimes,  during  the  extreme  heats,  little  parties 
are  formed,  that  send  for  refreshments  and  musick,  and  pro- 
tract their  gay  evening,  on  the  borders  of  one  of  the 
fountain?,  tmtil  midnight. 


Lesson  82.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  207 

LESSON  LXXXII. 

Scene  from  Percy's  Masque, — Hillhouse. 

A  court  before  the  stables.     Rook  alonf>. 

\^Enter  WestmorelaxMD.] 

.     West.     Which  way  went  Arthur  T 

Rooh.     Toward  the  wood,  my  lord, 
With  Shiek,  and  Lady  Bayard  by  the  bit,    • 
Scarce  cooled  since  yesterday. 

WesL     Whither  ?  '  ' 

Rook,     Heaven  knows, 
Not  I. — Perhaps,  on  Percy's  service. 

West,     Rook, 
If  thou  guard' St  not  that  venomed  tougue — 

Rook.     No  doubt,  no  doubt,  my  lord,  he  ably  serves  you  : 
Much  better  than  a  poor  plain  vassal,  bred 
In  good  old  Westmoreland,  of  seed  that's  known. 
And  served  your  father  well,  and  rnight,  mayhap, 
Lead  out  a  course  as  well  as  he.     Nor  spleen. 
Nor  malice  prompt  me,  my  good  lord,  but  love 
And  true  allegiance.     Could  your  lordship  list 
A  rare  adventure  that  befel  me,  late, 
Upon  the  hunt  ? 

West.     If  it  concern  me,  speak. 

Rook,     My  lord,  I  sometimes  ride  upon  the  chase, 
An  humble  follower,  like  the  rest,  of  Arthur. 
Not  long  ago,  leading  us  up  and  down 
Under  a  burning  sun,  the  livelong  day, 
He  stopped  at  evening,  midst  a  group  of  huts, 
Sequestered  in  the  Cheviots.     In  a  dingle. 
Divided  from  the  rest,  some  furlongs,  stood 
Three  lonely  cabins  ;  there,  by  strict  command, 
The  train  was  sheltered  ;  but,  for  lack,  my  lord, 
Of  room,  my  steed  was  stabled  in  a  barn, 
Planted  amidst  the  thick  of  cottages. 
When  I  had  slept,  methought,  an  hour  or  twain, 
I  woke  ;  and  as  I  mused,  upon  my  straw, 
Chanced  to  remember  somewhat  left  undone. 
Most  needful  for  my  harrased  beast.     I  rose ; 
And  drawing  towards  the  green,  (the  moon  being  bright,) 
Round  which  the  dwellings  of  the  hamlet  stood, 
^  Descried  a  press  of  peasants  by  a  door. 


208  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  82. 

Stopping,  I  thro'  the  smoky  lattice  saw 
Within,  encompassed  by  a  gazing  crowd, 
Our  noble  leader  high  in  argument. 

West.     Arthur  ? 

Rook.     The  same,  ray  lord — Greyheaded  men, 
And  boys,  and  all  between,  stock  still,  agape, 
Swallowed  his  words  like  tidings  from  the  grave  ; 
While  he,  with  gesture  fierce,  and  eyes  like  beacons. 
Of  Hotspur  spoke. 

West.     Of  Hotspur  ! 

Rook.     Ha ! — he  comes  ! — 
Ever,  my  lord,  he  named  him — 

West.     Peace  !  begone  ! 
When  the  stir's  past,  of  this  day  and  the  next, 
I'll  more  of  this.     Begone  !    [Exit  Rook.]    How  dare  he  touch 
'I'hat  theme  among  my  vassals  ? — Hotspur  !  ha  ! 
[Enter  Percy.] 

Per.     Joy  to  my  lord,  and  his  illustrious  dame, 
'That  conquering  Henry  draws  so  near  to  Warkworth. 

West.     Thou'rt  well  encountered. — But  a  day  he  stays, 
And  means  to  hunt,  and  I  a  course  would  hold, 
^Vorthy  my  King.     Look  to  your  charge.     Be  found 
In  trim  :  with  horses,  hawks,  hounds,  harness,  train, 
Glistening  and  plumed  for  speed.     Send  Ivo  out 
To  warn  the  Cheviot  warden. 

Per.     Good,  my  lord, 
Fear  not. — What  say  ye  to  a  Masque,  my  lord, 
After  the  chase,  in  honour  of  the  King  1 

West.     A  Masque  ? 

Per.     After  the  banquet,  with  my  lord's  good  leave, 
1  know  a  little  pageant  that  might  draw 
Attention  from  your  guests,  and  royal  kinsman. 

West.     'Twould  please  me,  sir  :  take  warrant  for't. 

Per.     Vizards,  and  hoods,  and  mail,  are  all  we  need. 

West.     Open  the  armory. 

Per.     Please,  my  gracious  lord, 
That  busy  meddling  fools  pry  not  about  me. 

West.     Hie  to  your  task  ! —  [Exit  Percy.] 

That  Rook  regards  him  with  jaundiced  eye, 
Hates,  and  would  cast  him,  gladly,  from  my  favour, 
Full  well  I  know.     There's  largo  allowance  : — still, 
To  name  amidst  those  peevish,  factious  slaves, 
The  race  they  worship  dearer  than  their  God,  i 

Is  treason.     None  that  loved  me  e'er  would  do  it.  1 

Anon  I'll  know  the  meaning  of  this  tale.  [Eii/ 


Lesson  83.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  209 

LESSON  LXXXIIL 

Scene  from  Hadad, — IIillhouse. 

ScEKE. — The  g^arden  of  Absalom's  house  on  Mount  Ziop,  near  the  palace, 
overlooking  the  city.     Tamar  sitting  by  a  fountain. 

Tarn.     How  aromatick  evening  grows  !  The  flowers, 
And  spicy  shrubs  exhale  like  onycha ; 
Spikenard  and  henna  emulate  in  sweets. 
Blest  hour  !  which  He,  who  fashioned  it  so  fair, 
So  softly  glowing,  so  contemplative, 
Hath  set,  and  sanctified  to  look  on  man. 
And  lo  !  the  smoke  of  evening  sacrifice 
Ascends  from  out  the  tabernacle.     Heaven 
Accept  the  expiation,  and  forgive 
This  day's  offences  ! — Ha !  the  wonted  strain, 
Precursor  of  his  coming  ! — Whence  can  this — 
It  seems  to  flow  from  some  unearthly  hand — 
Entej'  Hadad. 

Had     Does  beauteous  Tamar  view,  in  this  clear  fount, 
Herself,  or  heaven  ? 

Tarn.     Nay,  Hadad,  tell  me  whence 
Those  sad,  mysterious  sounds. 

Had.     What  sounds,  dear  Princess  ? 

Tatn.     Surely,  thou  know'st ;  and  now  I  almost  think 
Some  spiritual  creature  waits  on  thee. 

Had.     I  heard  no  sounds,  but  such  as  evening  sends 
Up  from  the  city  to  these  quiet  shades  ; 
A  blended  murmur  sweetly  harmonizing 
With  flowing  fountain,  feathered  minstrelsy, 
And  voices  from  the  hills. 

Tarn,     The  sounds  I  mean. 
Floated  like  mournful  musick  round  my  head. 
From  unseen  fingers. 

Had,     When  I 

Tain,     Now,  as  thou  earnest. 

Had.     'Tis  but  thy  fancy,  wrought 
To  ecstasy  ;  or  else  thy  grandsire's  harp 
Resounding  from  his  tower  at  eventide. 
I've  lingered  to  enjoy  its  solemn  tones, 
-Till  the  broad  moon,  that  rose  o'er  Olivet, 
Stood  listening  in  the  zenith  ;  yea,  have  deemed 
Viols  and  heavenly  voices  answered  him. 
18* 


J^IO  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  83.  | 

Tarn.     But  these — 

Hod.     Were  we  in  Syria,  I  might  say 
The  Naiad  of  the  fount,  or  some  sweet  nymph, 
The  goddess  of  these  shades,  rejoiced  in  thee, 

And  gave  thee  salutations ;  but  I  fear  j 

Judah  would  call  me  infidel  to  Moses.  \ 

Tarn.     How  like  my  fancy  !  When  these  strains  precede    \ 

Thy  steps,  as  oft  they  do,  I  love  to  think  i 

Some  gentle  being,  wlio  delights  in  us,  \ 

Is  hovering  near,  and  warns  me  of  thy  coming  ;  j 
But  they  are  dirge-like. 

Had.     Youthful  fantasy, 

Attuned  to  sadness,  makes  them  seem  so,  lady.  ' 

So  evening's  charming  voices,  welcomed  ever,  \ 

As  signs  of  rest  and  peace  ; — the  watchman's  call,  ] 

The  closing  gates,  the  Levite's  mellow  trump,  ? 
Announcing  the  returning  moon,  the  pipe 

Of  swains,  the  bleat,  the  bark,  the  housing-bell,  \ 

Send  melancholy  to  a  drooping  soul.  i 

I  have  feared,  my  gentle  Tamar,  \ 
Thy  spirit  is  too  tender  for  a  law- 
Announced  in  terrours,  coupled  with  the  threats  i 
Of  an  inflexible  and  dreadful  Being, 

Whose  word  annihilates,  whose  awful  voice  1 

Thunders  the  doom  of  nations,  who  can  check  ^ 
The  sun  in  Heaven,  and  shake  the  loosened  stars, 

Like  wind-tossed  fruit,  to  earth,  whose  fiery  step  j 

The  earthquake  follows,  whose  tempestuous  breath  \ 

Divides  the  sea,  whose  anger  never  dies,  \ 
Never  remits,  but  everlasting  burns, 

Burns  unextinguished  in  the  deeps  of  Hell.  \ 

.Tealous,  implacable —  < 
Tain,     Peace  !  impious  !  peace  ! 

Had.     Ha  !  says  not  Moses  so  ?  1 

The  Lord  is  jealous.  j 

Tarn,     Jealous  of  our  faith,  \ 

Our  love,  our  true  obedience,  justly  his  ;  ! 

And  a  poor  recompense  for  all  his  favours.  \ 

Implacable  he  is  not ;  contrite  man  - 

Ne'er  found  him  so.  ■ 

Had.     But  others  have,  i 

If  oracles  be  true.  ' 


Lesson-S3,]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  211  I 

Tarn,     Little  we  know  i 

Of  them  ;  and  nothing  of  their  dire  offence.  \ 

.  Had.     I  meant  not  to  displease,  love  ;  but  my  soul  I 

Sometimes  revolts,  because  I  think  thy  nature  j 

Shudders  at  him  and  yonder  bloody  rites.  j 

How  dreadful  !  when  the  world  awakes  to  light,  | 

And  life,  and  gladness,  and  the  jocund  tide  ] 

Bounds  in  the  veins  of  every  happy  creature,  ^ 

Morning  is  ushered  by  a  murdered  victim,  ] 

Whose  wasting  members  reek  upon  the  air,  ] 

Polluting  the  pure  firmament ;  the  shades  \ 

Of  evening  scent  of  death  ;  almost,  the  shrine  j 

O'ershadowed  by  the  holy  Cherubim  ;  i 

And  where  the  clotted  current  from  the  altar  1 

Mixes  with  Kedron,  all  its  waves  are  gore.  ; 
Nay,  nay,  I  grieve  thee — 'tis  not  for  myself, 

But  that  I  fear  these  gloomy  things  oppress  ^ 

Thy  soul,  and  cloud  its  native  sunshine.  \ 

Tarn,     (in  tears,  clasping  her  hands,)  ■^ 

Witness,  ye  Heavens  !  Eternal  Father,  witness  !  'i 

Blest  God  of  Jacob  !  Maker  !  Friend  !  Preserver  !  j 

That  with  my  heart,  my  undivided  soul  \ 
I  love,  adore,  and  praise  thy  glorious  name, 

Confess  thee  Lord  of  all,  believe  thy  laws  I 

Wise,  just,  and  mercifiil  as  they  are  true.  J 

0  Hadad,  Hadad  !  you  misconstrue  much  ] 
The  sadness  that  usurps  me — 'tis  for  thee  < 

1  grieve — for  hopes  that  fade — for  your  lost  soul, 

And  my  lost  happiness.  ^ 

Had.     O  say  not  so,  1 

Beloved  Princess.     Why  distrust  my  faith  ?  j 

Tarn.     Thou  knowest  alas,  my  weakness  ;  but  remember,| 

I  never,  never  will  be  thine,  although  ^ 

The  feast,  the  blessing,  and  the  song  were  past,  1 

Though  Absalom  and  David  called  me  bride,  1 

Till  sure  thou  own'st,  with  truth,  and  love  sincere,  > 

The  Lord  Jehovah.  i 

Had.     Leave  me  not — Hear,  hear — 
I  do  believe — I  know  that  Being  lives 

Whom  you  adore.     Ah  !  stay —  by  proofs  I  know  ) 

Which  Moses  had  not.  | 

Ta?n.     Prince,  unclasp  my  hand.     (Exit)  \ 

I 


212  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  81. 

LESSON  LXXXIV. 

Domestick  Education   and  Maternal  Infiuenoe, — Mrs. 

SiGOURNEY. 

Domestick  education,  has  great  power  in  the  establishment 
of  those  habits,  which  ultimately  stamp  the  character  for 
good  or  evil.  Under  its  jurisdiction,  the  Protean  forms  of 
selfishness,  are  best  detected  and  eradicated.  It  is  insepara- 
ble from  the  well-being  of  woman,  that  she  be  disinterested. 
In  the  height  of  youth,  and  beauty,  she  may  inhale  incense 
as  a  goddess,  but  a  time  will  come  for  nectar,  and  ambrosia 
to  yield  to  the  food  of  mortals.  Then  the  essence  of  her 
happiness,  will  be  found  to  consist  in  imparting  it. 

If  she  seek  to  intrench  herself  in  solitary  indifference,  her 
native  dependence  comes  over  her,  from  sources  where  it  is 
least  expected,  convincing  her  that  the  true  excellence  of  her 
nature,  is  to  confer  rather  than  to  monopolize  felicity.  When 
we  recollect,  that  her  prescribed  sphere  mingles  with  its 
purest  brightness,  seasons  of  deep  endurance,  anxieties, 
which  no  other  heart  can  participate,  and  sorrows  for  which 
earth  has  no  remedy,  we  would  earnestly  incite  those  who 
gird  her  for  the  warfare  of  life,  to  confirm  habits  of  fortitude, 
self-renunciation,  and  calm  reliance  on  an  Invisible  Sup- 
porter. 

We  are  not  willing  to  dismiss  this  subject,  without  indulg- 
ing a  few  thoughts  on  maternal  infiuence.  Its  agency,  in  the 
culture  of  the  affections,  those  springs  which  put  in  motion 
the  human  machine,  has  been  long  conceded.  That  it  might 
also,  bear  directly  upon  the  development  of  intellect,  and  the 
growth  of  the  sterner  virtues  of  manhood,  is  proved  by  the 
obligations  of  the  great  Bacon  to  his  studious  mother,  and 
the  acknowledged  indebtedness  of  Washington,  to  the  deci- 
sion, to  the  almost  Lacedemonian  culture,  of  his  maternal 
guide. 

The  immense  force  of  first  impressions,  is  on  the  side  of 
the  mother.  An  engine  of  uncomputed  power  is  committed 
to  her  hand.  If  she  fix  her  lever  judiciously,  though  she  may 
not  like  Archimedes,  aspire  to  move  the  earth,  she  may  hope 
to  raise  one  of  the  habitants  of  earth  to  he^^ven.  Her  dangef 
will  arise  from  delay  in  the  commencement  of  her  operations, 
as  well  as  from  doing  too  little,  or  too  much,  after  she  has 
engaged  in  the  work.  As  there  is  a  medium  in  chemistry, 
between  the  exhausted  receiver,  and  the  compound  blow- 


Lesson  84.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  213 

pipe,  so  in  early  education,  the  inertness  which  undertakes 
nothing,  and  the  impatience  which  attempts  all  things  at 
once,  may  be*  equally  indiscreet  and  fatal. 

The  mental  fountain  is  unsealed  to  the  eye  of  a  mother, 
ere  it  has  chosen  a  channel,  or  breathed  a  murmur.  She 
may  tinge  with  sweetness  or  bitterness,  the  whole  stream  of 
future  life.  Other  teachers  have  to  contend  with  unhappy 
combinations  of  ideas,  she  rules  the  simple  and  plastick  ele- 
ments. Of  her,  we  may  say,  she  hath  '*  entered  into  the 
magazines  of  snow,  and  seen  the  treasures  of  the  hail." 

In  the  moral  field,  she  is  a  privileged  labourer.  Ere  the 
dews  of  morning  begin  to  exhale,  she  is  there.  She  breaks 
up  a  soil,  which  the  root  of  error  and  the  thorns  of  prejudice 
have  not  pre-occupied.  She  plants  germs  whose  fruit  is  for 
eternity.  While  she  feels  that  she  is  required  to  educate  not 
merely  a  virtuous  member  of  society,  but  a  christian,  an 
angel,  a  servant  of  the  Most  High,  how  does  so  holy  a  charge 
quicken  piety,  by  teaching  the  heart  its  own  insufficiency  ! 

The  soul  of  her  infant  is  uncovered  before  her.  She 
knows  that  the  images,  which  she  enshrines  in  that  unpollut- 
ed sanctuary,  must  rise  before  her  at  the  bar  of  doom.  Trem- 
bling at  such  tremendous  responsibility,  she  teaches  the  little 
being,  whose  life  is  her  dearest  care,  of  the  God  who  made 
him  ;  and  who  can  measure  the  extent  of  a  mother's  lessons 
of  piety,  unless  his  hand  might  remove  the  veil,  which  divides 
terrestial  from  celestial  things  ? 

"  When  I  was  a  little  child,"  said  a  good  man,  '*  my  mother 
used  to  bid  me  kneel  beside  her,  and  place  her  hand  upon 
my  head,  while  she  prayed.  Ere  I  was  old  enough  to  know 
her  worth,  she  died,  and  I  was  left  too  much  to  my  own 
guidance.  Like  others,  I  was  inclined  to  evil  passions,  but 
often  felt  myself  checked,  and  as  it  were,  drawn  back,  by  a 
soft  hand  upon  my  head. 

When  a  young  man,  I  travelled  in  foreign  lands,  and  was 
exposed  to  many  temptations.  But  when  I  would  have  yield-^ 
ed,  that  same  hand  was  upon  my  liead^  and  I  was  saved.  I 
seemed  to  feel  its  pressure,  as  in  the  days  of  my  happy  infan- 
cy, and  sometimes  there  came  with  it  a  voice,  in  my  heart,  a 
voice  that  must  be  obeyed — '  Oh  !  do  not  this  wickedne^^s, 
my  son,  nor  sin  against  thy  God.' " 


214  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  85. 

LESSON  LXXXV. 

*  WeehawJcen, — Anonymous. 

Weehawken  !  In  thy  mountain  scenery  yet, 

All  we  adore  of  nature,  in  her  wild 
And  frolick  hour  of  infancy,  is  met ; 

And  never  has  a  summer's  morning  smil'd 
Upon  a  lovelier  scene,  than  the  full  eye 
Of  the  enthusiast  revels  on — when  high, 

Amid  thy  forest  solitudes,  he  climbs 

O'er  crags,  that  proudly  tower  above  the  deep, 

And  knows  that  sense  of  danger,  which  sublimes 
The  breathless  moment — when  his  daring  step 

Is  on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  and  he  can  hear 

The  low  dash  of  the  wave  with  startled  ear, 

Like  the  death  musick  of  his  coming  doom, 

And  clings  to  the  green  turf  with  desperate  force. 

As  the  heart  clings  to  life  ;  and  when  resume 
The  currents  in  his  veins  their  wonted  course, 

There  lingers  a  deep  feeling — like  the  moan 

Of  wearied  ocean,  when  the  storm  is  gone. 

In  such  an  hour  he  turns,  and  on  his  view, 

Ocean,  and  earth,  and  heaven,  burst  before  him. 

Clouds  slumbering  at  his  feet,  and  the  clear  blue 
Of  summer's  sky,  in  beauty  bending  o'er  him — 

The  city  bright  below ;  and  far  away. 

Sparkling  in  golden  light,  his  own  romantick  bay. 

Tall  spire,  and  glittering  roof,  and  battlement. 
And  banners  floating  in  the  sunny  air  ; 

And  white  sails  o'er  the  calm  blue  waters  bent. 
Green  isle,  and  circling  shore,  are  blended  there. 

In  wild  reality.     When  life  is  old. 

And  many  a  scene  forgot,  the  heart  will  hold 

Its  memory  of  this  ;  nor  lives  there  one 

Whose  infant  breath  was  drawn,  or  boyhood  days 

*  Near  the  citv  of  New  York. 


Lesson  86.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  315 

Of  happiness,  were  pass'd  beneath  that  sun, 

That  in  his  manhood  prime  can  calmly  gaze 
Upon  that  bay,  or  on  that  mountain  stand, 
Nor  feel  the  prouder  of  his  native  land. 


LESSON   LXXXVL 

South  America  in  1825. — N.  A.  Review. 

The  progress  of  South  America,  in  the  career  of  revolu- 
tion, independence,  and  liberty,  is  among  the  remarkable 
phenomena  of  the  present  age,  and  supplies  a  page  in  the  histo- 
ry of  man,  rich  with  facts  of  high  and  novel  import,  from  which 
the  wise  and  benevolent  may  receive  equal  instruction  and 
pleasure.  The  enlightened  statesman  will  find  his  bright- 
est anticipations  more  than  realized,  and  the  friend  of  human 
kind  will  contemplate  with  delight,  a  march  of  improvement 
in  the  social,  intellectual,  and  political  condition  of  his  race, 
which  no  records  of  previous  history  have  taught  him  to 
expect. 

A  tyranny  so  shameless  in  its  aggressions  on  the  rights  of 
man,  so  iniquitous  and  selfish  in  its  motives,  and  so  desolating 
in  its  pcCtion,  as  that  whose  iron  arm  was  stretched  over  Span- 
ish America,  from  the  bloody  era  of  the  conquest  down  to 
the  beginning  of  the  present  century,  has  never  been  known 
at  any  period  of  the  world,  whether  civilized  or  barbarous. 
Chateaubriand  spoke  without  metaphor,  when  he  said,  that 
''for  every  dollar  spent  in  Europe,  tears  of  blood  flow  in  the 
abysses  of  the  earth  in  America."  That  the  day  should 
arrive,  when  such  oppression  would  be  resisted,  and  a  just 
retribution  fall  on  the  heads  of  the  oppressors,  was  to  be  ex- 
pected, but  that  the  struggles  of  the  sufferers  should  be  crown- 
ed with  successes  so  speedy  and  permanent,  was  more  than 
the  most  sanguine  could  have  ventured  to  predict,  or  even 
hope. 

Within  the  short  space  of  fifteen  years,  all  Spanish  Ame- 
rica has  shaken  off  the  chains  o!*  its  servitude,  and  new  and 
independent  governments  have  been  established.  The  coun- 
tries, which  have  respectively  instituted  separate  governments 
of  their  own,  are  Mexico,  Guatamala,  Colombia,  Peru,  Chili, 
and  Buenos  Ayres.'    Nature  seems  to  have  marked  out  these 


216  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  86. 

divisions,  and  it  is  most  likely  that  they  will  for  the  present, 
at  least,  remain  fixed. 

Brazil  enjoys  a  sort  of  anomalous  independence,  having 
dissolved  its  connexion  with  the  old  dynasty  of  Portugal,  and 
set  up  a  government  of  its  own,  under  a  constitution,  and 
the  new  emperor  Don  Pedro,  who,  in  his  proclamation  to  the 
Brazilians,  published  a  year  ago,  bravely  bid  defiance  to  the 
"  Jacobinical  and  Machiavellian  Cortes  of  Portugal."  This 
is  of  course  a  temporary  state  of  things.  The  atmosphere 
of  America  is  not  one,  which  can  ever  be  breathed  freely  by 
kings  and  emperours  ;  crowns  will  not  sit  lightly  here,  and  the 
fate  of  Iturbide  should  be  a  warning  to  all,  who  are  ambi- 
tious of  so  hazardous  a  distinction.  The  experiment  of  the 
last  fifteen  years,  which  was  begun  indeed  fifty  years  ago  by 
the  United  States,  has  solved  to  a  demonstration,  the  great 
problem  in  politicks,  respecting  the  capability  of  men,  in  a 
given  state  of  society,  to  govern  themselves. 

Aloof  from  the  governments  of  the  old  world,  and  too 
remote  to  be  encumbered  and  crushed  by  the  officious  aid  of 
a  Holy  Alliance,  or  a  jealous  neighbour,  the  South  Ameri- 
cans have  fought  their  way  to  independence;  and,  notwith- 
standing they  were  just  emerging  from  a  state  of  pupilage 
and  degradation,  so  feelingly  described  by  Bolivar,  in  his 
excellent  speech  at  the  opening  of  the  Congress  of  Cucuta, 
they  have  nevertheless  shown  themselves  adequate  to  every 
exigency.  Wisdom  has  prevailed  in  their  deliberations,  and 
they  have  been  firm,  prompt,  and  persevering  in  action.  Re- 
verses have  only  roused  them  to  new  and  more  vigorous 
efforts,  and  experience  has  taught  them  lessons,  by  which 
they  have  not  disdained  to  be  instructed  and  guided. 

We  do  not  mean  to  say,  that  there  have  not  been  civil 
commotions,  tumults,  and  factions,  errors  of  judgment  on  one 
part,  and  want  of  principle  on  another,  contests  of  ambition, 
interest,  passion,  ignorance ;  all  these  have  shown  them- 
selves perpetually,  and  in  various  forms,  and  it  is  no  wonder 
that  they  should  ;  but  it  may  be  affirmed,  that  the  spirit  of 
justice,  intelligence,  and  virtue  has  triumphed,  and  it  must 
moreover  be  allowed,  that  the  praise  of  the  triumph  is  in 
proportion  to  the  obstacles  encountered  and  overcome.  In 
some  of  the  republicks  there  will  doubtless  be  further 
changes,  and  perhaps  civil  discords,  but  the  Rubicon  is  pass- 
ed, the  conflict  between  despotism  and  liberty  is  at  an  end. 

Disputes  concerning  the  safest  depositories  of  power,  and 
the  best  machinery  of  government,  will  arise,  constitutions 


Lesson  87.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  217 

will  require  to  be  amended  to  suit  the  growing  intelligence 
of  the  people,  and  improvement  of  society.  Such  differ- 
ences, when  confined  to  discussions,  or  even  to  sharp  collis- 
ions of  party,  will  do  good,  by  quickening  the  spirit  of  inquiry, 
and  diffusing  a  knowledge  of  political  science. 

The  recent  able  articles  in  the  Nacional^  published  at 
Buenos  Ayres,  going  into  a  full  examination  of  the  principles 
of  a  new  constitution  proposed  for  the  government,  cannot 
fail  to  exercise  an  important  influence  in  preparing  the  minds 
of  the  people  for  a  salutary  change.  The  freedom,  and  even 
warmth,  with  which  all  kinds  of  political  topicks  have  been 
discussed  in  the  papers  of  Bogota  and  Caracas,  has  no  doubt 
contributed  very  much  to  the  successful  establishment  of  the 
constitution  and  laws  of  Colombia.  Who  knows  how  much 
we  are  indebted  to  the  essays  of  the  Federalist,  and  the  news- 
paper wars  of  that  day,  for  our  own  Union  and  the  adoption 
of  the  constitution  ?  The  light  elicited  by  these  contests  of 
intellect  and  opinion,  enabled  the  people  gradually  to  distin- 
guish sound  principles  from  false,  and  prepared  them  to 
incline  to  the  better  side.  We  look  for  the  same  results, 
although  by  a  slower  process,  in  the  rising  states  of  South 
America. 


LESSON  LXXXVIL 

The  Raising  of  Jairus's  Daughter. — N.  A.  Review, 

They  have  watched  her  last  and  quivering  breath, 

And  the  maiden's  soul  has  flown ; 
They  have  wrapt  her  in  the  robes  of  death. 

And  laid  her,  dark  and  lone. 


But  the  mother  casts  a  look  behnid, 

Upon  that  fallen  flow'r, — 
Nay,  start  not — 'twas  the  gathering  wind, 

Those  limbs  have  lost  their  pow'r. 

And  tremble  not  at  that  cheek  of  snow, 
Over  which  the  faint  light  plays, 

'Tis  only  the  crimson  curtain's  glow, 
Which  thus  deceives  thy  gaze. 


CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  88. 

Didst  thou  not  close  that  expiring  eye  ? 

And  feel  the  soft  pulse  decay  ? 
And  did  not  thy  lips  receive  the  sigh, 

Which  bore  her  soul  away  1 

Slie  lies  on  her  couch,  all  pale  and  hushed, 

And  heeds  not  thy  gentle  tread, 
And  is  still  as  the  spring-flow'r  by  traveller  crush'd. 

Which  dies  on  its  snowy  bed. 

The  mother  has  flown  from  that  lonely  room, 

And  the  maid  is  mute  and  pale — - 
Her  ivory  hand  is  cold  as  the  tomb, 

And  dark  is  her  stiffenM  nail. 

Her  mother  strays  with  folded  arms, 

And  her  head  is  betit  in  woe, 
She  shuts  her  thoughts  to  joy  or  charms, 

No  tear  attempts  to  flow. 

But  listen  !  what  name  salutes  her  ear  ? 

It  comes  to  a  heart  of  stone  ; 
*  Jesus,"  she  cries,  "  has  no  power  here. 
My  daughter's  life  has  flown." 

He  leads  the  way  to  that  cold  white  couch, 

And  bends  o'er  the  senseless  form, 
Can  his  be  less  than  a  heavenly  touch  ? 

The  maiden's  hand  is  warm  ! 

And  the  fresh  blood  comes  with  roseate  hue, 

While  death's  dark  terrours  fly, 
Her  form  is  rais'd,  and  her  step  is  true, 

And  life  beams  bright  in  her  eye. 


LESSON  LXXXVin. 

The  Power  of  Musick, — Pierpont. 

While  thus  the  enthusiast  roams  along  the  stream, 

Balanc'd  between  a  revery  and  a  dream, 

Backward  he  springs ;  and,  through  his  bounding  heart. 


Lesson  89.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  219 

The  cold  and  curdling  poison  seems  to  dart. 
For,  in  the  leaves,  beneath  a  quivering  brake, 
Spinning  his  death-note,  lies  a  coiling  snake, 
Just  in  the  act,  with  greenly  venom' d  fangs, 
To  strike  the  foot,  that  heedless  o'er  him  hangs. 

Bloated  with  rage,  on  spiral  folds  he  rides  ; 
His  rough  scales  shiver  on  his  spreading  sides ; 
Dusky  and  dim  his  glossy  neck  becomes, 
And  freezing  poisons  thicken  on  his  gums  ; 
His  parch'd  and  hissing  throat  breathes  hot  and  dry  ; 
A  spark  of  hell  lies  burning  on  his  eye ; 
While  like  a  vapour,  o'er  his  writhing  rings. 
Whirls  his  light  tail,  that  threatens  while  it  sings. 

Soon  as  dumb  Fear  removes  her  icy  fingers 
From  off  the  heart,  where  gazing  wonder  lingers, 
The  pilgrim,  shrinking  from  a  doubtful  fight. 
Aware  of  danger,  too,  in  such  a  flight, 
From  his  soft  flute  throws  musick's  air  around, 
And  meets  his  foe,  upon  enchanted  ground. 

See  !  as  the  plaintive  melody  is  flung. 
The  lightning  flash  fades  on  the  serpent's  tongue  : 
The  uncoiling  reptile  o'er  each  shining  fold 
Throws  changeful  clouds  of  azure,  green  and  gold  ; 
A  softer  lustre  twinkles  in  his  eye  ; 
His  neck  is  burnished  with  a  glassier  dye  ; 
His  slippery  scales  grow  smoother  to  the  sight. 
And  his  relaxing  circles  roll  in  light. — 
Slowly  the  charm  retires ; — with  waving  sides 
Along  its  track  the  graceful  listener  glides ; 
While  music k  throws  her  silver  cloud  around. 
And  bears  her  votary  off",  in  magick  folds  of  sound. 


LESSON  LXXXIX. 

Ohio. — Flint. 

This  great  State,  which  was,  within  my  memory,  an  un- 
broken wilderness,  is  now  at  farthest,  only  the  fourth  State 
in  tbe  Union  in  point  of  numbers.     There  are  not,  probably, 


•220  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesso?i  89. 

on  the  earth,  seven  hundred  thousand  human  beings,  who,  in 
the  mass,  are  more  comfortably  fed,  and  clothed,  than  the 
population  of  this  State.  I  looked  upon  this  fresh  and  flour- 
ishing city  [Cincinnati],  outstretched  under  my  eye,  and 
compared  in  thought,  its  progress  with  that  of  the  imperial 
Petersburg, — where  a  great  and  intelligent  despot  said,  "  Let 
there  be  a  city,"  and  a  city  arose  upon  a  Golgotha,  upon 
piles  of  human  bones  and  skulls,  that  gave  consistency  to  a 
morass. 

The  awe  of  a  numberless  soldiery,  the  concentered  re- 
sources of  thirty  millions  of  slaves,  the  will  of  the  sovereign, 
who  made  the  same  use  of  men,  that  the  mason  does  of  bricks 
and  mortar,  must  all  conspire  to  form  a  city  in  that  place. 
Droves  of  peasants  are  transplanted  from  the  extremities  of 
Asia  to  people  it.  Imperial  treasures  are  lavished  to  furnish 
inducements  to  entice  the  noblesse  to  build  and  reside  there. 
A  despotick  court  displays  there  Asiatick  magnificence,  and 
squanders  the  means  of  ministering  to  its  caprices  and  its 
pleasures.  The  result  of  all  these  concurring  causes,  is  the 
erection  of  one  splendid  city,  in  the  midst  of  a  desert ;  and 
more  human  beings,  probably,  perished  in  this  unnatural 
Ibrcing  of  a  city,  than  inhabit  it  at  this  day. 

How  different  are  the  fostering  eflbrts  of  liberty.  Sixteen 
hundred  miles  from  the  sea,  in  half  an  age,  this  flourishing 
and  beautiful  town  has  emerged  from  the  woods,  and  when 
as  old  as  Petersburg  now  is,  will  probably,  in  wealth  and 
population,  emulate  the  imperial  city.  No  troops  are  station- 
ed, no  publick  money  lavished  here.  It  is  not  even  the 
State  metropolis.  The  people  build  and  multiply  impercep- 
tibly and  in  silence.  Nothing  is  forced.  This  magnificent 
result,  is  only  the  development  of  our  free  and  noble  institu- 
tions, upon  a  fertile  soil.  Nor  is  this  place  the  solitary  point, 
where  the  genius  of  our  institutions  is  working  this  result. 
Numerous  cities  and  towns,  over  an  extent  of  two  thousands 
of  miles,  are  emulating  the  growth  of  this  place. 

The  banks  of  the  Ohio,  are  destined  shortly,  to  become 
almost  a  continued  village.  Eleven  years  have  produced 
an  astonishing  change  in  this  respect ;  for,  at  that  dis- 
tance of  time,  by  far  the  great^er  proportion  of  the  course  of 
the  Ohio  w  as  through  a  forest.  When  you  saw  this  city, 
apparently  lifting  its  head  from  surrounding  woods,  you 
found  yourself  at  a  loss  to  imagine  whence  so  many  people 
could  be  furnished  witb  supplies.  In  the  fine  weather,  at 
the  commencement  of  winter,  it  is  only  necessary  to  go  to 


Lesson  90.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  221 

the  market  of  this  town,  and  see  its  exuberant  supplies  of 
every  article  of  consumption,  in  the  finest  order,  and  of  the 
best  quality  ;  to  see  the  lines  of  wagons,  and  the  astonishing- 
quantities  of  every  kind  of  produce,  to  realize,  at  once,  all 
that  you  have  read  about  the  growth  of  Ohio. 


LESSON  XC. 

The  retirement  of  General  Putnam* — Flint. 

General  Putnam  was  a  veteran  of  the  revolution,  an  in- 
habitant of  Marietta,  one  of  the  first  purchasers  and  settlers 
in  the  country.      He  had  moved  here  when  it  was  one  compact 
and   boundless   forest,  vocal   only   with  the  cry  of  owls,  the 
growl  of  bears,  and  the  death  song  of  the  savages.     He  had 
seen  that  forest  fall  under  the  axe, — had   seen   commodious, 
and  after  that,  splendid  dwellings,  rise  around  him.     He  had 
seen  the  settlement  sustain  an  inundation,  which  wafted  away 
the  dwellings,  and  in  some  instances  the  inhabitants  in  them. 
The  cattle  and  all  the  improvements  of  cultivation  were  swept 
away.     He  had  seen  the  country  suffer   all  the  accumulated 
horrours  of  an  Indian  war.     He  had  seen  its  exhaustless  fertil- 
ity and  its  natural  advantages  triumph  over  all.     He  had  seen 
Marietta  make  advances  towards  acquainting  itself  with  the 
gulf  of  Mexico,  by  floating  off  from  its  banks  a  number  of  sea 
vessels  built  there.     He  had  seen  the  prodigious  invention  of 
steam-boats  experimented  on  the  Ohio,  and  heard  their  first 
thunder,  as  they  swept  by  his  dwelling.     He  had  survived  to 
see  them  become  so  common,   as  to  be  no  more  objects  of 
curiosity.     He  had  witnessed  a  hundred  boats,  laden  for  New 
Orleans,  pass  by  in  the   compass  of  a  few  hours.     He  had 
surrounded  his  modest,  but  commodious  dwelling  with  fruit- 
trees  of  his  own  planting  ;  and  finer,  or  more  loaded  orch- 
ards than  his,  no  country  could  offer.     In  the  midst  of  rural 
plenty,  and  endeared  friends,  who  had  grown  up  around  him, 
far   from  the  display  of  wealth,  the  bustle  of  ambition   and 
intrigue,  the  father  of  the  colony,  hospitable  and  kind  without 
ostentation  and  without  effort,  he  displayed  in  these  remote 
regions,  the  grandeur,  real  and  intrinsick,  of  those  immortal 
men,  who  achieved  our  revolution.     Of  these  great  men, 
most  of  whom,  and  General  Putnam  among  the  rest,  have 
19* 


222  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoiim. 

passed  away,  there  seems  to  have  arisen  a  more  just  and  a 
mere  respectful  estimate.  Greater  and  more  unambitious 
men,  no  age  or  country  has  reared. 


LESSON  XCL 

Prevalence  of  Poetry, — Percival. 

The  world  is  full  of  poetry — the  air 
Is  living  with  its  spirit ;  and  the  waves 
Dance  to  the  musick  of  its  melodies 
And  sparkle  in  its  brightness — Earth  is  veil'd, 
And  mantled  with  its  beauty  ;  and  the  walls, 
That  close  the  universe,  with  crystal,  in, 
Are  eloquent  with  voices  that  proclaim 
The  unseen  glories  of  immensity, 
In  harmonies,  too  perfect,  and  too  high 
For  aught  but  beings  of  celestial  mould, 
And  speak  to  man,  in  one  eternal  hymn, 
Unfading  beauty,  and  unyielding  power. 


'Tis  not  the  chime  and  flow  of  words,  that  move 

In  measur'd  file,  and  metrical  array  ; 

'Tis  not  the  union  of  returning  sounds, 

Nor  all  the  pleasing  artifice  of  rhyme. 

And  quantity  and  accent  that  can  give 

This  all-pervading  spirit  to  the  ear. 

Or  blend  it  with  the  movings  of  the  soul. 

*Tis  a  mysterious  feeling,  which  combines 
Man  with  the  world  around  him  in  a  chain 
Woven  of  flowers,  and  dipp'd  in  sweetness,  till 
He  taste  the  high  communion  of  his  thoughts, 
With  all  existences,  in  earth  and  heaven, 
That  meet  him  in  the  charm  of  grace  and  power. 

'Tis  not  the  noisy  babbler,  who  displays, 
In  studied  phrase,  and  ornate  epithet. 
And  rounded  period,  poor  and  vai)id  thoughts, 
Which  peep  from  out  the  cumbrous  ornaments, 
That  overload  their  littleness. — Its  words 


Lesson  92.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  2^ 

Are  few,  but  deep  and  solemn  ;   and  they  break 
Fresh  from  the  fount  of  feeling,  and  are  full 
Of  all  that  passion,  which  on  Carmel,  fir'd 
The  holy  prophet,  when  his  lips  were  coals, 
His  language  wing'd  with  terrour,  as  when  bolts 
Leap  from  the  brooding  tempest,  arm'd  with  wrath, 
Commissioned  to  affright  us,  and  destroy. 


LESSON  XCII. 

The  Falls  of  Niagara. — Brainard. 

The  thoughts  are  strange  that  crowd  into  my  brain, 
While  I  look  upward  to  thee.     It  would  seem 
As  if  God  pour'd  thee  from  his  *'  hollow  hand," 
And  hung  his  bow  upon  thy  awful  front ; 
And  spoke  in  that  loud  voice,  which  seem'd  to  him 
Who  dwelt  in  Patmos  for  his  Saviour's  sake, 
"•  The  sound  of  many  waters  ;"  and  had  bade 
Thy  flood  to  chronicle  the  ages  back, 
And  notch  His  centuries  in  the  eternal  rocks. 

Deep  calleth  unto  deep.     And  what  are  we, 
That  hear  the  question  of  that  voice  sublime  ? 
Oh  !  what  are  all  the  notes  that  ever  rung 
From  war's  vain  trumpet,  by  thy  thundering  side  ! 
Yea,  what  is  all  the  riot  man  can  make 
In  his  short  life,  to  thy  unceasing  roar  ! 
And  yet,  bold  babbler,  what  art  thou  to  Him, 
Who  drown'd  a  world,  and  heap'd  the  waters  far 
Above  its  loftiest  mountains  ? — a  light  wave, 
That  breaks,  and  whispers  of  its  Maker's  might. 


LESSON  XCIII. 


General  Charaeter  of  the  North  American  Indians, — Flint, 

I  HAVE   inspected  the  northern,  middle,  and  southern  In- 
dians, for   a  length  of  ten  years  ;    and  I   menticn  it  only  to 


224  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  9^, 

prove  that  my  opportunities  of  observation  have  been  consid- 
erable, and  that  I  do  not  undertake  to  form  a  judgment  of 
their  character,  without  at  least  having  seen  much  of  it. 

I  have  been  forcibly  struck  with  a  general  resemblance  in 
their  countenance,  make,  conformation,  manners,  and  habits. 
I  believe  that  no  race  of  men  can  show  a  people,  who  speak 
different  languages,  inhabit  different  climes,  and  subsist  on 
different  food,  and  who  are  yet  so  wonderfully  alike.  You 
may  easily  discover  striking  differences  in  their  stature, 
strength,  intellect,  acuteness,  and  consideration  among  them- 
selves. But  a  savage  of  Canada,  and  of  the  Rio  del  Norte, 
has  substantially  the  same  face,  the  same  form,  and  if  I  may 
so  say,  the  same  instincts. 

They  are  all,  in  my  mind,  unquestionably  from  a  common 
stock.  What  wonderful  dreams  they  must  have  had,  who 
supposed  that  any  of  these  races  were  derived  from  the 
Welch,  or  the  Jews.  Their  languages,  now  that  they  are 
ifnore  attentively  examined,  are  found  to  be  far  less  discord- 
ant than  they  have  been  generally  supposed.  In  the  con- 
struction of  it,  in  the  manner  of  forming  their  attributes, 
their  verbs,  their  numerals,  especially,  there  is  a  great  and 
striking  analogy.  Nor  will  it  explain  this  to  my  mind,  to  say 
that  their  wants  and  modes  of  existence  being  alike,  their 
ways  of  expressing  their  thoughts  must  be  also.  'JMiey  have 
a  language  of  signs,  that  is  common  to  all,  from  Canada  to 
the  western  sea.  Governour  Clark  explained  to  me  a  great 
number  of  these  signs,  which  convey  exactly  the  same  ideas 
to  those  who  speak  different  languages.  But  in  fact,  with 
the  command  of  four  dialects,  I  believe  that  a  man  could 
make  himself  understood  by  the  savages  from  Maine  to 
Mexico. 

They  have  not  the  same  acute  and  tender  sensibilities  with 
the  other  races  of  men.  I  particularly  compare  them  with 
a  race,  with  which  I  have  often  seen  them  intermixed, — the 
negroes.  They  have  no  quick  perceptions,  no  acute  feelings. 
They  do  not  so  easily  or  readily  sympathize  with  external 
nature.  They  seem  callous  to  every  passion  but  rage.  The 
instances,  that  have  been  given  in  mch  glowing  colours,  of 
their  females  having  felt  and  displayed  the  passion  of  love 
towards  individuals  of  the  whites,  with  such  ardour  and  de- 
voted constancy,  have,  I  doubt  not,  existed.  But  they  were 
exceptions,  anomalies  from  the  general  character. 

In  all  the  positions  in  which  I  have  seen  them,  they  do  not 
seem  susceptible  of  much  affection  for  their  own  species,  or 


Lesson  93.]        AMERICAN  LITERATURE  225 

the  whites.  They  are  apparently  a  melancholy,  sullen,  and 
musing  race,  who  appear  to  have  whatever  they  have  of  emo- 
tion or  excitement  on  ordinary  occasions,  going  on  in  the 
inner  man.  Every  one  has  remarked  how  little  surprize  they 
express,  for  whatever  is  new,  strange,  or  striking.  Their 
continual  converse  with  woods,  rocks,  and  sterile  deserts, 
with  the  roar  of  the  winds,  and  the  solitude  and  gloom  of 
the  wilderness,  their  alternations  of  satiety  and  hunger,  their 
continual  exposure  to  danger,  their  uncertain  existence, 
which  seems  to  them  a  forced  and  unnatural  state,  the  little 
hold  which  their  affections  seem  to  have  upon  life,  the  wild 
and  savage  nature  that  always  surrounds  them, — these  cir- 
cumstances seem  to  have  impressed  a  steady  and  unalterable 
gloom  upon  their  countenance. 

If  there  be  here  and  there  a  young  man,  otherwise  born 
to  distinction  among  them,  who  feels  the  freshness  and  the 
vivacity  of  a  youthful  existence,  and  shows  any  thing  of  the 
gaiety  and  volatility  of  other  animals  in  such  circumstances, 
he  is  denouYiced  as  a  trifling  thing,  destitute  of  all  dignity  of 
character,  and  the  sullen  and  silent  young  savage  will  be  ad- 
vanced above  him.  They  converse  very  little,  even  among 
themselves.  They  seem  to  possess  an  instinctive  determina- 
tion to  be  wholly  independent  even  of  their  own  savage 
society.  They  wish  to  have  as  few  relations  as  may  be,  with 
any  thing  external  to  themselves. 

Their  impassible  fortitude  and  endurance  of  suifering, 
which  have  been  so  much  vaunted,  are  after  all,  in  my  mind, 
the  result  of  a  greater  degree  of  physical  insensibility.  It 
has  been  told  me,  with  how  much  truth  I  know  not,  but  I 
believe  it,  that  in  amputation,  and  other  surgical  operations, 
their  nerves  do  not  shrink,  do  not  shovV  the  same  tendency 
to  spasm,  with  those  of  the  whites.  When  the  savage,  to  ex- 
plain his  insensibility  to  cold,  called  upon  the  white  man  to 
recollect  how  little  his  own  face  was  affected  by  it,  in  conse- 
quence of  its  constant  exposure,  the  savage  added,  ^'  My 
body  is  all  face.'' 

This  increasing  insensibility,  transmitted  from  generation 
to  generation,  finally  becomes  inwrought  with  the  whole  web 
of  animal  nature,  and  the  body  of  the  savage  seems  to  have 
little  more  sensibility  than  the  hoofs  of  horses.  Of  course 
no  ordinary  stimulus  excites  them  to  action.  None  of  the 
common  excitements,  endearments,  or  motives,  operate  upon 
them  at  all.  They  seem  to  hold  most  of  the  things  that 
move  us,  in  proud  disdain.     The  horrours  of  their  dreadful 


226  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  94. 

warfare,  the  infernal  rage  of  their  battles,  the  demoniack 
fury  of  gratified  revenge,  the  alternations  of  hope  and  despair 
in  their  gambling,  to  which  they  are  addicted,  far  beyond  the 
whites,  the  brutal  exhilaration  of  drunkenness, — these  are 
their  pleasurable  excitements. 

These  are  the  things,  *that  awaken  them  to  a  strong  and 
pleasurable  consciousness  of  existence.  When  these  excite- 
ments arouse  the  imprisoned  energies  of  their  long  and  sullen 
meditations,  it  is  like  ^Eolus  uncaging  the  whirlwinds.  The 
tomahawk  flies  with  unpitying  and  unsparing  fury.  The 
writhing  of  their  victims  inspires  a  horrible  joy.  Nor  need 
we  wonder  at  the  enmity,  that  exists  between  them  and  the 
frontier  people,  when  we  know  how  often  such  enemies  have 
been  let  loose  upon  their  women  and  children. 

I  have  often  contrasted  the  savages,  in  all  these  respects, 
with  the  negroes,  and  it  has  seemed  to  me,  that  they  were  the 
two  extremes  of  human  nature  brought  together.  The  negro 
is  easily  excitable,  and  in  the  highest  degree  susceptible  of  all 
the  passions  ;  he  is  more  especially  so,  of  the  mild  and  gen- 
tle affections.  To  the  Indian,  stern,  silent,  moody,  rumi- 
nating, existence  seems  a  burden.  To  the  negro,  remove 
only  pain  and  hunger,  it  is  naturally  a  state  of  enjoyment. 
As  soon  as  his  burdens  are  laid  down,  or  his  toils  for  a  mo- 
ment suspended,  he  sings,  he  seizes  his  fiddle,  he  dances. 
When  their  days  are  passed  in  continued  and  severe  toil, 
their  nights, — for  like  cats  and  owls  they  are  nocturnal 
animals, — are  passed  in  wandering  about  from  plantation  to 
plantation,  in  visiting,  feasting,  and  conversation. 


LESSON  XCIV. 

An  Evening  Sketch. — Pinknev. 

'TwAs  eve  ;  the  broadly  shining  sun 
Its  long,  celestial  course,  had  run  ; 
The  twilight  heaven,  so  soft  and  blue, 
Met  earth  in  tender  interview. 

Like  happy  islands  of  the  sky. 
The  gleaming  clouds  reposed  on  high, 
Each  fixed  sublime,  deprived  of  motion, 
A  Delos  to  the  airy  ocean. 


Lesson  95.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  ,227 

Upon  the  stirless  shore  no  breeze 
Shook  the  green  drapery  of  the  trees, 
Or,  rebel  to  tranquillity, 
Awoke  a  ripple  on  the  sea. 

Nor,  in  a  more  tumultuous  sound, 
Were  the  world's  audible  breathings  drowned  ; 
The  low  strange  hum  of  herbage  growing, 
The  voice  of  hidden  waters  flowing. 
Made  songs  of  nature,  which  the  ear 
Could  scarcely  be  pronounced  to  hear  ; 
But  noise  had  furled  its  subtle  wings, 
And  moved  not  through  material  things, 
All  which  lay  calm  as  they  had  been 
Parts  of  the  painter's  inimick  scene. 


LESSON  XCV, 

Address  of  the  Sylph  of  Autumn  to  the  Bard. — Allston. 

And  now,  in  accents  deep  and  low, 
Like  voice  of  fondly-cherish'd  woe. 

The  Sylph  of  Autumn  sad  : 
Though  /  may  not  of  raptures  sing, 
That  graced  the  gentle  song  of  Springs 
Like  Summer  playful  pleasures  bring. 

Thy  youthful  heart  to  glad  : 

Yet  still  may  I  in  hope  aspire 

Thy  heart  to  touch  Avith  chaster  fire. 

And  purifying  love : 
For  I  with  vision  high  and  holy, 
And  spell  of  quick'ning  melancholy. 

Thy  soul  from  sublunary  folly 

First  rais'd  to  worlds  above. 

What  though  be  mine  the  treasures  fair 
Of  purple  grape,  and  yellow  pear, 

And  fruits  of  various  hue. 
And  harvests  rich  of  golden  grain, 
That  dance  in  waves  along  the  plain 
To  merry  song  of  reaping  swain, 

Beneath  the  welkin  blue ; 


^28  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  95. 

With  these  I  may  not  urge  my  suit, 
Of  Summer's  patient  toil  the  fruit, 

For  mortal  purpose  given : 
Nor  may  it  fit  my  sober  mood 
To  sing  of  sweetly  murmuring  flood, 
Or  dies  of  many -coloured  wood. 

That  mock  the  bow  of  heaven. 

But,  know,  'twas  mine  the  secret  power 
That  wak'd  thee  at  the  midnight  hour, 

In  bleak  November's  reign  : 
Twas  I  the  spell  around  thee  cast, 
When  thou  didst  hear  the  hollow  blast 
In  murmurs  tell  of  pleasures  past. 

That  ne'er  would  come  again  : 

And  led  thee,  when  the  storm  was  o'er. 
To  hear  the  sullen  ocean  roar, 

By  dreadful  calm  opprest ; 
Which  still,  though  not  a  breeze  was  there, 
Its  mountain-billows  heav'd  in  air. 
As  if  a  living  thing  it  were. 

That  strove  in  vain  for  rest. 

'Twas  I,  when  thou,  subdued  by  woe, 
Didst  watch  the  leaves  descending  slow, 

To  each  a  moral  gave ; 
And  as  they  mov'd  in  mournful  train, 
With  rustling  sound,  along  the  plain, 
Taught  them  to  sing  a  seraph's  strain 

Of  peace  within  the  grave. 

And  then,  uprais'd  thy  streaming  eye, 
I  met  thee  in  the  western  sky, 

In  pomp  of  evening  cloud ; 
That,  while  with  varying  form  it  roll'd. 
Some  wizard's  castle  seem'd  of  gold, 
And  now  a  crimson'd  knight  of  old, 

Or  king  in  purple  proud. 

And  last,  as  sunk  the  Setting  sun. 
And  Evening  with  her  shadows  dun 

The  gorgeous  pageant  past, 
'Twas  then  of  life  a  raimick  show, 


Lessmi  96.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  229 

Of  human  grandeur  here  below, 
Which  thus  beneath  the  fatal  blow 
Of  Death  must  fall  at  last 

Oh,  then  with  what  aspiring  gaze, 
Didst  thou  thy  tranced  vision  raise 

To  yonder  orbs  on  high, 
And  think  how  wondrous,  how  sublime 
'Twere  upwards  to  their  spheres  to  climb, 
And  live,  beyond  the  reach  of  Time, 

Child  of  Eternity  ! 


LESSON  XCVL 
Eloquence, — Webster. 

When  publick  bodies  are  to  be  addressed  on  momentous 
occasions,  when  great  interests  are  at  stake,  and  ^rong  pas- 
sions excited,  nothing  is  valuable,  in  speech,  farther  than  it 
is  connected  with  high  intellectual  and  moral  endowments. 
Clearness,  force,  and  earnestness,  are  the  qualities  which 
produce  conviction.  True  eloquence,  indeed,  does  not  con- 
sist in  speech.  It  cannot  be  brought  from  far.  Labour  and 
learning  may  toil  for  it,  but  they  will  toil  in  vain.  Words 
and  phrases  may  be  marshalled  in  every  way,  bnt  they  can- 
not compass  it.  It  must  exist  in  the  man,  in  the  subject, 
and  in  the  occasion. 

Affected  passion,  intense  expression,  the  pomp  of  declama- 
tion, all  may  aspire  after  it — they  cannot  reach  it.  It  comes, 
if  it  come  at  a!l,  like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain  from 
the  earth,  or  the  bursting  forth  of  volcanick  fires,  with  spon- 
taneous, original,  native  force.  The  graces  taught  in  the 
schools,  the  costly  ornaments,  and  studied  contrivances  of 
speech,  shock  and  disgust  men,  when  their  own  lives,  and 
the  fate  of  their  wives,  their  children,  and  their  country, 
hang  on  the  decision  of  the  hour. 

Then  words  have  lost  their  power,  rhetorick  is  vain,  and 
all  elaborate  oratory  contemptible.  Even  genius,  itself,  thei^ 
feels  rebuked,  and  subdued,  as  in  the  presence  of  higher 
qualities.  Then,  patriotism  is  eloquent ;  then,  self-devotion 
is  elocjuent.  The  clear  conception,  outrunning  the  deduc- 
tions of  logick,  the  high  purpose,  the  firm  resolve,  the  daunt- 
20 


^30  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  97. 

less  spirit,  speaking  on  the  tongue,  beaming  from  the  eye, 
informing  every  feature,  and  urging  the  whole  man  onward, 
right  onward  to  his'object — this,  this  is  eloquence  ;  or  rather 
it  is  something  greater  and  higher  than  all  eloquence,  it  is 
action,  noble,  sublime,  godlike  action. 


LESSON   XCVIL 

Vindication  of  Spain.     Pronounced  during  the  Debate  on 
the  Seminole  XVar^  in  Congress y  1819. — Hopkinson. 

Permit  me,  sir,  to  express  my  regret  and. decided  disappro- 
bation of  the  terms  of  reproach  and  contempt  in  which  this 
nation  has  been  spoken  of  on  this  floor  ;  **  poor,  degraded 
Spain/'  'has  resounded  from  various  parts  of  the  house.  Is 
It  becoming,  sir,  the  dignity  of  a  representative  of  the  Ameri- 
can people  to  utter,  from  his  high  station,  invectives  against 
a  nation,  with  whom  we  cultivate  and  maintain  the  most 
friendly  relations  ?  Is  it  discreet,  sir,  in  an  individual,  how- 
ever enlightened,  to  venture  upon  a  denunciation  of  a  whole 
people  ? 

In  this  poor,  degraded  Spain,  it  must  be  remembered, 
there  is  a  vast  mas^of  learning,  and  genius,  and  virtue,  too  ; 
and  a  gentleman,  who  passes  it  all  under  his  condemnation 
and  contempt,  hardly  considers  what  a  task  he  has  undertaken. 
No  people  has  suffered  more  than  ourselves,  by  these  exter- 
minating, sweeping  judgments.  Let  us  not  be  guilty  of  the 
same  injustice  to  others.  When  I  see  one  of  these  scribbling 
travellers,  or  insignificant  atoms,  gravely  take  upon  himself 
to  put  down  the  character  of  my  own  country,  I  turn  from 
him  with  disgust  and  derision. 

Let  us  be  equally  just  to  others.  This  at  least  is  not  the 
place  for  the  indulgence  of  national  prejudices  or  resent- 
ments. A  regard  for  ourselves,  forbids  it.  May  I  add,  sir, 
that,  in  reference  to  the"  weakness  of  Spain,  we  should  char- 
acterize her,  perhaps  more  justly,  certainly  more  liberally, 
by  saying  exhausted,  rather  than  degraded  Spain.  Yes,  sir, 
exhausted  in  a  contest  for  existence  with  a  tremendous  pow- 
er, under  which  every  other  nation  of  Europe,  save  one,  sunk 
and  fell.  She  bore  herself  through  with  inflexible  persever- 
ance ;  and,  if  she  came  out  of  the  conflict  enfeebled  and 
•exhausted,  it  is  no  cause  of  reproach  or  contempt. 


Lesson  93.J     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  231 

We  talk  of  a  war  with  Spain,  as  a  matter  of  amusement. 
I  do  not  desire  to  partake  of  it.  It  will  not  be  found  a  very 
comfortable  war,  not  from  her  power  to* do  so  much  harm, 
but  from  the  impossibility  of  gaining  any  thing  by  it,  or  of 
wearing  out  her  patience,  or  subduing  her  fortitude.  The 
history  of  every  Spanish  war,  is  a  history  of  immoveable 
obstinacy,  that  seems  to  be  iconfirmed  and  hardened  by  mis- 
fortune and  trial.  In  her  frequent  contests  with  England,  the 
latter,  after  all  her  victories,  has  been  the  first  to  desire  peace. 

Let  gentlemen  not  deceive  themselves,  about  the  pleasantry 
of  a  Spanish  war.  May  they  not,  sir,  have  some  respect 
for  the  past  character  of  this  nation  1  The  time  has  been, 
when  a  Spanish  knight,  was  the  type  of  every  thing  that  was 
chivalrous  in  valour,  generous  in  honour,  and  pure  in  patriot- 
ism. A  century  has  hardly  gone  by,  since  the  Spanish  in- 
fantry was  the  terrour  of  Europe,  and  the  pride  of  soldiers. 
But  those  days  of  her  glory  are  past.  Where,  now,  is  that 
invincible  courage ;  that  noble  devotion  to  honour  ;  that  ex- 
alted love  of  country  ?  Let  me  tell  you,  in  a  voice  of  warn- 
ing ;  they  are  buried  in  the  mines  of  Mexico,  and  the 
mountains  of  Peru.  Beware,  my  countrymen  ;  look  not 
with  so  eager  an  eye  to  these  fatal  possessions,  which  will  also 
be  the  grave  of  your  strength  and  virtue,  should  you  be  so. 
unfortunate  as  to  obtain  them. 


LESSON  XCVIIL 
Lafayette's  Visit  to  the  United  States,  in  1824. 

[From  the  United  States  Literary  Gazette,  for  Sept.  1824.] 

At  length  this  friend  of  our  fathers  has  reached  our  shores  ; 
where  he  came  in  his  youth  to  suffer  and  to  combat  with  a 
few,  whom  hope  had  almost  left,  he  has  come  in  his  age  to 
receive  a  nation's  welcome.  We  are  a  young  people,  and 
have  little  experience  in  pomp  and  courtliness  ;  we  are  com- 
paratively poor,  and  very  practical  and  economical ; — we  are 
republicans  and  would  rather  be  our  own  kings  than  reduce 
the  majesty  of  the  nation  within  the  bounds  of  a  regal  diadem^ 
— and  there  is  no  monarch  to  bid  us  welcome  AZ/guest,  and*^ 
be  exceedingly  joyous  and  thankful  at  the  place  and  time 
appointed. 

Yet,  for  all  this,  we  do  not  believe  the  old  world  ever  saw 


232  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  98. 

a  triumphal  march  Hke  that  which  liafayette  is  now  making 
through  our  land.  We  do  not  speak  of  the  sincerity  and 
earnestness  of  the  greetings,  which  he  receives,  but  of  the 
visible  pomp  and  splendour  of  the  homage,  and  the  honours 
which  are  paid  him. 

He  landed  at  New  York,  and  the  whole  of  that  great  city 
went  out  to  meet  him,  with  a  cry  of  gladness  and  of  welcome. 
V  wise  and  just  and  honourable  enthusiasm,  which  the  slumber 
of  many  years  could  not  extinguish,  awoke  at  his  approach. 
As  soon  as  it  was  known  that  he  would  visit  first  the  eastern 
states,  the  whole  population  of  the  country  arose,  as  one  man, 
to  prepare  for  his  coming. 

His  progress  was  perpetually  arrested  by  successive  multi- 
tudes, who  could  not  let  him  pass  by,  until  he  had  gathered 
their  tribute  of  joy  and  gratitude.  The  towns,  which  he 
passed  through,  were  ready  with  their  homage.  His  journey 
was  impeded,  and  he  did  not  arrive  in  Dorchester  until  the 
\iight  had  almost  passed  ;  but  crowds  of  all  ages  and  both 
oxes  were  watching  for  him  to  the  last  hour. 

They  who  awaited  him  by  the  road-side  felt  no  want  of 
slumber ;  they  did  not  expect  to  take  him  by  the  hand  or 
o  touch  his  garment,  but  the  hope  of  seeing  him  pass  by, 
cheered  them  through  the  slow  watches  of  the  night.  As 
soon  as  the  obscurity  of  twilight  had  deepened  into  darkness, 
lanterns  and  torches  were  placed  by  the  way  side  for  many 
miles ;  even,  indeed,  to  the  seat  of  Governour  Eustis,  where 
it  was  known  that  he  would  stop.  This  was  not  done  by  con- 
cert, and  previous  arrangement  and  the  command  of  authority, 
but  it  was  the  common  expression  of  a  common  feeling ; — it 
was  a  simple  but  most  eloquent  circumstance. 

In  Europe,  a  sovereign  might  have  called  forth  his  ten  thou- 
sand troops  to  present  their  muskets,  and  roll  their  drums,  and 
wave  their  standards  before  him  ;  or  have  bidden  the  populace 
come  forth  from  their  hovels  or  their  fields,  and  array  them- 
selves by  the  way-side,  and  be  ready  to  cast  their  flowers  at 
his  feet,  and  shout, — and  long  for  the  farce  to  be  over.  But 
here,  the  voice  of  the  nation  hails  him, — the  hearts  of  all  the 
people  are  throbbing  in  his  presence. 

He  came  to  our  city,*  and  all  that  we  could  devise  or  exe- 
cute to  his  honour  was  done ;  he  passed  through  triumphal 
arches  built  by  freemen  whom  he  had  helped  to  make  free  ; 
lie  heard  in  our  crowded  streets  the  cheers  of  more  thousands, 
'vho  had  come  here  only  to  look  upon  him,  than  he  found 

*  jposton. 


Lesson  98.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  238 

dwelling  here  when,  fifty  years  ago,  he  came  to  our  assist 
ance  ;  and  when  he  stopped  by  our  broad  Common  to  take  the 
wreath  offered  him  by  one  of  twenty-five  hundred  children 
educated  in  the  free  schools  of  a  city,  where  in  his  youth  he 
had  found  scarcely  so  many  men  grown  to  manhood,  then  he 
may  have  learned  what  an  infinite  blessing  he  helped  to 
secure  to  us,  and  may  have  felt  whi^  we  offer  him  a  gratitude 
so  profound. 

And  so  will  it  be  to  the  end.  We  profess  no  power  of 
prophecy,  and  none  is  needed  for  this  prediction.  The 
same  feelings  await  him,  wherever  he  can  go  in  our  coun- 
try, and  the  same  natural  and  direct  expressions  of  these 
feelings.  The  young  have  heard  their  fathers  tell  or  they  have 
read  of  his  sacrifices  and  his  deeds  for  our  country  ;  his  name 
is  intimately  connected  with  great  events,  which  have  forcibly 
struck  their  imagination  and  taken  strong  hold  upon  their 
memory, — and  they  throng  to  gaze  upon  him  with  the  passion- 
ate eagerness  of  youth. 

The  middle-aged  know  more  distinctly,  and  feel  more 
deeply  all  that  he  did,  and  all  that  they  owe  to  that  deliverance, 
towards  which  he  brought  assistance  so  important,  so  unlooked 
for,  so  purely  disinterested ;  and  how  can  they  help  looking 
upon  him,  as  u})on  one  whose  like,  few  nations  and  ages  have 
seen,  and  they  shall  see  no  more.  The  old  have  not  forgotten 
that  he  came  to  their  aid,  and  fought  their  battles,  and  bled  for 
their  sakes  ;  the  thoughts  of  their  youth  have  returned,  when  the 
name  of  Lafayette,  was  familiar  in  their  mouths  as  a  household 
word  ;  for  years  and  years  they  have  remembered  him  and 
talked  of  him  ;  they  have  known  that  he  lived  in  a  foreign 
land, — they  have  longed  to  see  him  ;  and  rejoice  that  they 
shall  not  die  without  the  sight. 

This  will  be  so,  and  it  should  it  be  so.  The  meeting 
between  the  Marquis  de  Lafayette  and  the  people  of  this 
country  is  no  common  occurrence;  past  ages  can  produce  no 
precedent,  and  the  usual  principles  of  human  conduct  afford 
no  rule  for  it.  Fifty  years  ago,  a  few  weak  colonies  were 
struggling  to  withstand  oppression  and  be  free.  A  noble- 
man of  high  rank  left  the  court  of  his  sovereign,  the  hopes  and 
the  honours  proper  to  his  rank,  the  luxuries,  which  wealth 
offered  him,  and  the  peaceful  happiness  of  home,  and  came  to 
aid  those  colonies. 

He  had  and  could  have  no  motive  but  love  for  our  cause  : 
he  left  all  that  men  commonly  seek,  and  came  to  aJJ  that  men 
commonly  dread ;  and  he  came  unsolicited,  for  we  knew  him 
20* 


234  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  93- 

not  until  we  knew  him  from  his  offer.  He  brought  to  the  aid 
of  an  almost  desperate  cause,  men,  and  money,  and  personal 
assistance,  and  the  influence  of  his  example.  He  endured 
extreme  hardship,  toil,  sacrifice,  and  danger,  with  a  more  un- 
failing constancy,  than  if  he  were  fighting  in  his  own  cause, 
and — excepting  a  few  months  which  he  passed  at  home,  in 
effectually  soliciting  the  assistance  of  his  country — he  remain- 
ed here  until  the  worst  of  our  conflict  was  over,  and  our  in- 
dependence achieved  ;  then  his  object  was  effected,  and  he 
returned  to  his  family. 

For  nearly  fifty  years  he  leads  a  life  always  consistent  with 
its  opening.  In  the  mean  time,  this  njition,  by  whose  birth 
he  stood,  has  grown  to  be  a  mighty  people,  enjoying  undis- 
turbed and  unexampled  prosperity  and  happiness,  in  conse- 
quence of  those  principles,  and  that  independence,  which  he 
Ibught  for  with  our  fathers,  and  helped  mainly  to  establish. 
He  comes  to  this  land  once  more,  that  he  may  see  these  glori- 
ous fruits  of  those  glorious  victories  ;  and  is  it  possible  that 
we  should  feel  or  should  express  a  superfluous  gratitude? 

Tht  honours  due  to  Lafayette  cannot  be  measured  by  those, 
which  we  pay  to  other  surviving  officers  of  the  revolution. 
There  is  not  merely  no  one  whose  rank  in  the  army  equal- 
led his,  and  no  one  whose  assistance  was  so  peculiarly  valua- 
ble. They  of  that  noble  band,  who  are  yet  living,  have 
always  lived  among  us,  and  to  them  our  thanks  can  be,  and 
should  be  always  paid  ;  now  we  are  discharging  a  debt  of 
gratitude,  which  has  been  accumulating  for  more  years  than 
many,  who  pay  it,  have  lived. 

But  we  should  especially  remember  all  that  Lafayette  aban- 
doned, and  the  disheartening  condition  of  those,  to  whom  he 
came,  and  the  pure  passion  for  liberty,  which  alone  could  have 
brought  him  hither;  and  we  shall  then  feel  that  this  case  can- 
not be  judged  by  any  other  that  has  occurred  since  History 
began  to  record  men's  doings.  Perhaps  we  have  erred  in 
supposing  that  any,  who  are  among  us,  will  refuse  to  join  in 
the  universal  acclaim,  which  is  now  uttering  the  welcome  of  a 
people  to  an  illustrious  guest. 

We  repeat,  the  enthusiasm  felt  from  the  boundaries  to  the 
boundaries  of  our  land,  is  as  wise  and  honourable  as  it  is 
natural.  If  there  be  any,  who  dare  to  deem  the  homage  paid 
to  Lafayette  unnecessary  or  'excessive,  let  them  hide  such 
thoughts  in  silence, — if  uttered  they  will  be  heard  with  scorn 
and  with  rebuke.  In  this,  if  never  before,  the  whole  people 
of  this  land  are  united,  for  the  whole  people  know  who  it  is. 


Lesson  99.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  285 

that  is  among  them,  and  hoio  and  why  he  came  in  the  days  of 
their  fathers, — and  every  man  rejoices  to  find  his  feelings 
borne  out  by  the  sympathy  of  all  around  him. 


LESSON  XCIX. 

Mr,  Everetfs  Address  to  General  Lafayette,  at  the  close 
of  his  Oration,  before  the  Phi  Beta  Kappa  Society ,  in 
1824. 

With  the  present  year,  will  be  completed  the  half  centu- 
ry, from  that  most  important  era  in  human  liistory,  the  com- 
mencement of  our  revolutionary  war.  The  jubilee  of  our 
national  existence  is  at  hand.  The  space  of  time,  that  has 
elapsed,  since  that  momentous  date,  has  laid  down  in  the 
dust,  which  the  blood  of  many  of  them  had  already  hallowed^ 
most  of  the  great  men  to  whom,  under  Providence,  we  owe 
our  national  existence  and  privileges. 

A  few  still  survive  among  us,  to  reap  the  rich  fruits  of  their 
labours  and  sufferings  ;  and  One  has  yielded  himself  to  the 
united  voice  of  a  people,  and  returned  in  his  age,  to  receive 
the  gratitude  of  the  nation,  to  whom  he  devoted  his  youth. 
It  is  recorded  on  the  pages  of  American  history,  that  when 
this  friend  of  our  country,  applied  to  our  commissioners  at 
Paris,  in  1776,  for  a  passage  in  the  first  ship  they  should 
despatch  to  America,  they  were  obliged  to  answer  him,  (so 
low  and  abject  was  then  our  dear  native  land,)  that  they 
possessed  not  the  means  nor  the  credit  sufficient  for  provid- 
ing a  single  vessel,  in  all  the  ports  of  France.  Then,  exclaim- 
ed the  youthful  hero,  ^'I  will  provide  my  own;"  and  it  is  a 
literal  fact,  that  when  all  America  was  too  poor  to  offer  him 
so  much  as  a  passage  to  her  shores,  he  left,  in  his  tender 
youth,  the  bosom  of  home,  of  happiness,  of  wealth,  of  rank, 
to  plunge  in  the  dust  and  blood  of  our  inauspicious  struggle. 

Welcome,  friend  of  our  fathers,  to  our  shores  !  Happy 
are  our  eyes  that  behold  thosfe  venerable  features.  Enjoy  a 
triumph,  such  as  never  conqueror  nor  monarch  enjoyed,  the 
assurance  that  throughout  America,  there  is  not  a  bosom, 
which  does  not  beat  with  joy  and  gratitude  at  the  sound  of 
your  name.  You  have  already  met  and  saluted,  or  will  soon 
meet,  the  few  that  remain,  of  the  ardent  patriots,  prudent 
counsellors,  and  brave  warriours,  with  whom  you  were  asso- 


236  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  100. 

ciated  in  achieving  our  liberty.  But  you  have  looked  round 
in  vain  for  the  faces  of  many,  who  would  have  lived  years  of 
pleasure  on  a  day  like  this,  with  their  old  companion  in  arms 
and  brother  in  peril. 

Lincoln,  and  Greene,  and  Knox,  and  Hamilton,  are  gone  ; 
the  heroes  of  Saratoga  and  Yorktown  have  fallen,  before  the 
only  foe  they  could  not  meet.  Above  all,  the  first  of  heroes, 
and  of  men,  the  friend  of  your  youth,  the  more  than  friend 
of  his  country,  rests  in  the  bosom  of  the  soil  he  redeemed. 
On  the  banks  of  his  Potomack,  he  lies  in  glory  and  peace. 

You  will  revisit  the  hospitable  shades  of  Mount  Vernon, 
but  him,  whom  you  venerated  as  we  did,  you  will  not  meet 
at  its  door.  His  voice  of  consolation,  which  reached  you  in 
the  Austrian  dungeons,  cannot  now  break  its  silence,  to  bid 
you  welcome  to  his  own  roof.  But  the  grateful  children  of 
America  will  bid  you  welcome,  in  his  name.  Welcome,  thrice 
welcome,  to  our  shores  ;  and  whithersoever,  throughout  the 
limits  of  the  continent,  your  course  shall  take  you,  the  ear, 
that  hears  you  shall  bless  you,  tlie  eye,  that  sees  you  shall 
bear  witness  to  you,  and  every  tongue  exclaim,  with  heartfelt 
joy,  welcome,  welcome  Lafayette  ! 


LESSON  C. 
The  Spirit  of  Seventi/-8iz. — J.  Quincy. 

Of  a  similar  type  is  the  self-denial,  to  which  our  forefathers 
submitted,  and  the  hazards,  which  they  voluntarily  incurred, 
for  the  sake  of  principle.  By  submission,  they  would,  in  their 
own  time,  have  enjoyed  peace,  secured  plenty,  attained  exter- 
nal protection  under  the  shield  of  Great  Britain,  and  in  the  gra- 
dual advance  of  society,  they  had  reason  to  expect  to  arrive, 
even  in  the  colonial  state,  at  a  very  elevated  and  enviable 
condition  of  prosperity. 

On  the  other  hand,  what  were  the  hazards  of  resistance  ? 
The  untried  and  not  to  be  estimated  perils  of  civil  war  ;  '*  a 
people,  in  the  gristle,  and  not  yet  hardened  into  the  bone  of 
manhood,"  to  rush  on  the  thick  bosses  of  the  buckler  of  the 
most  powerful  state  in  Europe  ;  the  one  most  capable  of 
annoying  them  ;  without  arms  or  resources,  to  enter  the  lists 
with  the  best  appointed  nation  on  the  globe  ;  destitute  of  a 
sloop  of  war,  to  wage  hostilities  with  a  country  whose  navies 


Lesson  100,]     AxMERICAN  LITERATURE.  237 

commanded  every  sea,  and  even  their  own  harbours.  In 
case  of  success, — the  chance  of  anarchy  and  the  unknown 
casualties  attending  a  new  organization  of  society  ;  in  case  of 
failure, — exile,  confiscation,  the  scaffold,  the  fate  of  some  ; 
to  bear  the  opprobrious  names  of  rebel  and  traitor,  and  to 
transmit  them  to  a  disgraced  posterity,  the  fate  of  all. 

What  appeals  to  selfishness  !  what  to  cupidity  !  what  to  love 
of  ease,  to  fear,  and  to  pusillanimity  !  But  our  fathers  took 
counsel  of  a  different  spirit — of  the  pure,  ethereal  spirit 
which  glowed  and  burned  in  their  own  bosoms.  In  spite  of 
the  greatness  of  the  temptation  and  the  certainty  of  the  haz- 
ard, they  resisted  ;  and  the  front  ranks  of  opposition  were 
filled,  not  by  a  needy,  promiscuous,  unknown,  and  irrespon- 
sible crowd,  but  by  the  heart,  and  mind,  and  strength,  of  the 
colony  ;  by  the  calm  and  calculating  merchant ;  by  the  cau- 
tious capitalist ;  by  the  sedate  and  pious  divine  ;  by  the  far- 
looking,  deep  read  lawyer  ;  by  the  laborious  and  intelligent 
mechanick.  We  have  no  need  to  repeat  names.  The  entire 
soul,  and  sense,  and  sinew,  of  society  were  in  action. 

The  spirit  of  our  revolution  is  not  to  be  sought  in  this,  or 
that,  individual ;  nor  in  this,  or  that,  order  of  men.  It  was 
the  mighty  energy  of  the  whole  mass.  It  was  the  momentous 
heaving  of  the  troubled  ocean,  roused,  indeed,  by  the  coming 
tempest,  but  propelled  onward  by  the  lashing  of  its  own 
waters,  and  by  the  awful,  irresistible  impulse  of  deep  seated 
passion  and  power. 

In  this  movement,  those,  who  were  foremost,  were  not 
always  those  of  most  influence  ;  nor  were  the  exciting  causes 
always  the  most  obtrusive  to  the  eye.  All  were  pressed  for- 
ward by  the  spirit,  inherent  in  the  community, — by  the  force 
of  publick  opinion  and  sense  of  duty,  which  never  fell  behind, 
but  was  often  in  advance  of  those,  who  were  called  leaders. 

The  event  has  shown  that  our  fathers  judged  rightly  in 
this  movement ;  that  their  conception  was  just  concerning 
their  means  and  their  duties  ;  that  they  were  equal  to  the 
crisis,  in  which  Providence  had  placed  them  ;  that,  daring 
to  be  free,  their  power  was  equal  to  their  daring.  They  vin- 
dicated liberty  for  themselves.  They  transmitted  it  to  us, 
their  posterity.  There  is  no  truer  glory,  no  higher  fame, 
known,  or  to  be  acquired  among  men. 

How  different  would  have  been  our  lot,  at  this  day,  both  as 
men  and  citizens,  had  the  revolution  failed  of  success,  or  had 
the  great  principle  of  liberty,  on  which  it  turned,  been  yield- 
eel  !    Instead  of  a  people,  free,  enlightened,  rejoicing  in  their 


238  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  101. 

strength,  possessing  a  just  consciousness  of  being  the  authors 
and  arbiters  of  their  own  and  their  country's  destinies,  we 
should  have  been  a  multitude,  without  pride  of  independence, 
without  sense  of  state  or  national  sovereignty  ;  looking  across 
the  ocean  for  our  rulers  ;  watching  the  Atlantick  sky,  as  the 
cloud  of  court  locusts,  tempted  by  our  greenness,  came, 
'*  warping  on  the  eastern  wind;"  waiting  on  the  strand  to 
catch  the  first  glimpse  of  our  descending  master  ;  some  trans- 
atlantick  chieftain  ;  some  royal  favourite  ;  some  court  syco- 
phant ;  sent  to  govern  a  country,  without  knowing  its  inter- 
ests ;  without  sympathy  in  its  prospects  ;  resting,  in  another 
hemisphere,  the  hopes  of  his  fame  and  fortune.  Our  judges 
coming  from  afar.  Our  mercliants  denied  all  commerce, 
except  with  the  parent  state.  Our  clergy  sent  us,  like  our 
clothes,  ready  made  ;  and  cut  in  the  newest  court  fashion. 
None  but  conformists  allowed  to  vote.  None  but  church- 
men eligible.  Our  civil  rights  subject  to  crown  officers. 
Our  religious,  to  a  foreign  hierarchy,  cold,  selfish,  vindictive, 
distant,  solicitous  about  glebes  and  tithes,  but  reckless,  among 
us,  of  the  spread  of  the  light  of  learning,  or  the  influence  of 
the  Gospel. 


LESSON  CI. 

Extract  from  an    Eulogy  on  the  late  Professor  FisJier   of 
Yale  College, — Kingsley. 

How  frail  are  our  hopes  ! — how  limited  our  views ! — how 
imperfect  our  apprehensions  of  the  ways  of  Omnipotence, 
and  how  vainly  do  we  prescribe  to  infinite  wisdom  and  good- 
ness, the  rules  of  his  government!  We  confidently  trusted, 
that  fruit  so  fair,  would  be  preserved  to  maturity, — that  a 
morning  so  clear  and  serene,  would  be  followed  by  a  day  of 
unclouded  brightness ;  but  the  fruit  is  nipt  and  blasted, — 
the  day,  long  before  it  reached  its  meridian  splendour,  is 
shrouded  in  darkness,  and  our  fond  expectations  have  perish- 
ed forever.  We  are  now  apprized  of  the  melancholy  event, 
that  the  Albion  was  dismasted  in  a  gale  on  the  coast  of  Ire- 
land, and  driven  upon  the  rocks ;  where,  with  a  single  excep- 
tion, all  the  passengers,  and  among  them,  Professor  Fisher. 
were  lost  in  the  waves. 


Lesson  102.]       AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  239 

If  the  bare  recital  of  this  fact  fills  us  with  deep  distress,  if 
we  shrink  from  approaching  the  final  scene,  and  check  our 
imaginations,  which  would  paint  in  too  vivid  colours,  the  last 
sufferings  of  our  departed  friend  ;  what  must  have  been  the 
horrour,  the  agony,  which  rent  his  bosom,  in  actual  view  of 
a  death  so  sudden,  so  unexpected,  so  awful  !  But  here  let 
us  not  indulge  too  far,  our  gloomy  surmises.  Others  may 
have  been  distracted  with  fear,  and  wild  with  apprehension  ; 
but  he,  no  doubt,  was  calm  and  collected.  Others,  frantick 
with  grief,  and  mad  with  alarm  and  terrour,  amidst  the  rage 
of  contending  elements,  may  have  abandoned  themselves  to 
despair  ; — but  he,  no  doubt,  was  undismayed,  and  knew  where 
to  place  his  coniidence. 

We  may,  indeed,  suppose  that  the  thought  of  his  parents 
and  his  home,  the  friends  he  had  left  behind,  and  the  institu- 
tion so  much  the  object  of  his  affection, — the  idea  of  the 
sudden  extinction  of  his  earthly  prospects,  and  the  loss  of 
whatever  his  heart  held  dear,  now  rushed  upon  his  recollec- 
tion, and  filled  him  with  unutterable  anguish, — yet  those  who 
best  knew  him  will  most  easily  believe,  that  the  last  feeling 
of  his  heart,  as  the  billows  closed  around  him,  that  the  last 
aspiration  as  he  sunk  into  the  opening  gulph  was, — '*  Father, 
not  my  will,  but  thine,  be  done." 


LESSON   GIL 
Physical  Education, — Humphrey. 

If  what  I  choose  to  call  the  physical  part  of  education, 
has  not  been  wholly  overlooked,  (as  it  certainly  has  not,)  in 
the  most  popular  systems,  still,  it  may  well  be  questioned, 
whether  it  has  yet  received  that  degree  of  attention,  which 
its  immense  importance  demands. 

Such,  in  our  present  condition,  is  the  mysterious  connex- 
ion between  body  and  mind,  that  the  one  cannot  act,  except 
on  a  very  limited  scale,  without  the  assistance  of  the  other. 
The  immortal  agent  must  have  an  ''  earthly  house"  to  dwell 
in  ;  and  it  is  essential  to  vigorous  and  healthful  mental  ope- 
rations, that  this  house  should  be  well  built,  and  that  it  should 
be  kept  in  good  repair.  Now,  it  is  the  province  of  physical 
education,  to  erect  the  building,  and  in  carrying  it  up,  to 
have  special  reference  to  its  firmness  and  durability  ;  so  that 


^40  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  102. 

the  unseen  tenant,  who  is  sent  down  to  occupy  it,  may  enjoy 
every  convenience,  and  be  enabled  to  work  to  the  very  best 
advantage. 

That  is  undoubtedly  the  wisest  and  best  regimen,  which 
takes  the  infant  from  the  cradle,  and  conducts  him  along 
through  childhood  and  youth,  up  to  high  maturity,  in  such  a 
manner,  as  to  give  strength  to  his  arm,  swiftness  to  his  feet, 
solidity  and  amplitude  to  his  muscles,  symmetry  to  his  frame, 
and  expansion  to  all  his  vital  energies.  It  is  obvious,  that 
this  branch  of  education,  comprehends  not  only  food  and 
clothing ;  but  air,  exercise,  lodging,  early  rising,  and  what- 
ever else  is  requisite  to  the  full  development  of  the  physical 
constitution. 

If,  then,  you  would  see  the  son  of  your  prayers  and  hopes, 
blooming  with  health,  and  rejoicing  daily  in  the  full  and 
sparkling  tide  of  youthful  buoyancy  ;  if  you  wish  him  to  be 
strong  and  athletick  and  careless  of  fatigue  ;  if  you  would 
iit  him  for  hard  labour  and  safe  exposure  to  winter  and 
summer ;  or  if  you  would  prepare  him  to  sit  down  twelve 
hours  in  a  day  with  Euclid,  Enfield  and  Newton,  and  still 
preserve  his  health,  you  must  lay  the  foundation  accordingly. 
You  must  begin  with  him  early,  must  teach  him  self-denial, 
and  gradually  subject  him  to  such  hardships,  as  will  help  to 
consolidate  his  frame  and  give  increasing  energy  to  all  his 
physical  powers.  His  diet  must  be  simple,  his  apparel  must 
not  be  too  warm,  nor  his  bed  too  soft.  As  good  soil  is  com- 
monly so  much  cheaper  and  better  for  children  than  medicine, 
beware  of  too  much  restriction  in  the  management  of  your 
darling  boy.  Let  him,  in  choosing  his  play,  follow  the  sug- 
gestions of  nature. 

Be  not  discomposed  at  the  sight  of  his  sand-hills  in  the 
road,  his  snows-forts  in  February,  and  his  mud-dams  in 
April ;  nor  when  you  chance  to  look  out  in  the  midst  of  an 
August  shower,  and  see  him  wading  and  sailing  and  sporting 
along  with  the  water-fowl.  If  you  would  make  him  hardy 
and  fearless,  let  him  go  abroad  as  often  as  he  pleases,  in  his 
early  boyhood,  and  amuse  himself  by  the  hour  together,  in 
smoothing  and  twirlin;^  the  hoary  locks  of  winter.  Instead 
of  keeping  him  shut  up  all  day  with  a  stove,  and  graduating 
his  sleeping  room  by  Fahrenheit,  let  him  face  the  keen  edge 
of  the  north  wind,  when  the  mercury  is  below  cypher,  and 
instead  of  minding  a  little  shivering  and  complaining  when 
he  returns,  cheer  up  his  spirits  and  send  him  out  again.  In 
this  way,  you  will  teach  him  that  he  was  not  born  to  live  in 


Ltsson  102.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  241 

the  nursery,  nor  to  brood  over  the  kitchen  fire ;  but  to  range 
abroad  as  free  as  the  snow  and  the  air,  and  to  gain  warmth 
from  exercise.  I  love  and  admire  the  youth,  who  turns  not 
back  from  the  howling  wintry  blast,  nor  withers  under  the 
blaze  of  summer :  who  never  magnifies  *' mole-hills  into 
mountains,"  but  whose  daring  eye,  exulting,  scales  the  eagle's 
airy  crag,  and  v/lio  is  ready  to  undertake  any  thing,  that  is 
prudent  and  lawful,  within  the  range  of  possibility. 

Who  would  think  of  planting  the  mountain  oak  in  a  green- 
house, or  of  rearing  the  cedar  of  Lebanon  in  a  lady's 
flower  pot  1  Who  does  not  know  that  in  order  to  attain  their 
mighty  strength  and  majestick  forms,  they  must  freely  enjoy 
the  rain  and  the  sunshine,  and  must  feel  the  rocking  of  the 
tempest'?  Who  would  think  of  raising  up  a  band  of  Indian 
warriours,  upon  cakes  and  jellies  and  beds  of  down,  and  amid 
all  the  luxuries  and  ease  of  wealth  and  carefulness  1  The 
attempt  would  be  highly  preposterous,  not  to  say  utterly 
ridiculous.  Very  different  is  the  course,  which  nature  points 
out.  It  is  the  plain  and  scanty  fare  of  these  sons  of  the 
forest,  their  hard  and  cold  lodging,  their  long  marches 
and  fastings,  and  their  constant  exposure  to  all  the  hardships 
of  the  wilderness,  which  give  them  such  Herculean  limbs 
and  stature  ;  such  prodigious  might  in  the  deadly  fray,  and 
such  swiftness  of  foot  in  pursuing  the  vanquished. 

I  am  far,  however,  from  saying,  that  such  training,  would 
ensure  to  every  child  the  arm  of  Achilles,  or  the  courage  of 
Logan,  or  the  constitution  and  daring  of  Martin  Luther. 
Some  would  doubtless  sink  under  a  vigorous  early  discipline  ; 
but  not  near  so  many,  as  is  generally  supposed.  The  truth 
is,  there  is  a  mistaken  tenderness,  which  daily  interferes 
with  the  health-giving  economy  of  heaven.  Too  many  par- 
ents, instead  of  building  upon  the  foundation,  which  God  has 
laid,  first  subvert  that  foundation  by  misplaced  indulgencies, 
and  then  vainly  attempt  to  build  among  the  ruins.  They 
cross  and  perplex  nature  so  much,  in  her  efforts  to  make 
their  children  strong  and  healthy,  that  she  at  length  refuses 
to  do  any  thing,  and  the  doating  parents  are  left  to  patch  up 
the  shattered  and  puny  constitution  as  well  as  they  can, 
with  tonicks  and  essences. 

In  this  way,  not  a  few  young  men  of  good  talents,  are 
rendered  physically  incapable  of  pursuing  their  studies  to 
any  advantage.  They  can  never  bear  the  fatigue  of  close 
and  long  continued  application.  The  mind  would  gladly 
work,  but  the  earthly  tabernacle  is  so  extremely  frail,  that 
21 


242  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoti  103. 

every  vigorous  effort  shakes  it  to  the  foundation.  It  is  like 
setting  up  the  machinery  of  a  furnace,  in  a  mere  shed,  without 
studs  or  braces — or  like  attempting  to  raise  the  steam  for  a 
large  ship,  in  a  tin  boiler.  Whatever  talents  a  youth  may 
possess,  he  can  accomplish  but  little  in  the  way  of  study, 
without  a  good  constitution  to  sustain  his  mental  efforts ;  and 
such  a  constitution  is  not  a  blessing  to  be  enjoyed  of  course. 
Like  almost  every  other  gift  of  heaven,  it  is  to  be  obtained 
by  human  providence,  and  in  the  use  of  means  adapted  to 
the  end.  How  many  who  begin  well,  ultimately  fail  of  emi- 
nence and  usefulness,  through  excessive  tenderness,  and  for 
want  of  skill  and  care  in  their  early  physical  education,  it  is 
impossible  to  say,  but  that  many  a  young  man  is  doomed  to 
lingering  imbecility,  or  to  a  premature  grave,  by  this  kind 
of  mismanagement  ;  and  that  the  subject,  on  which  I  have 
hazarded  the  foregoing  remarks,  is  intimately  connected  with 
the  vital  interests  of  the  church  and  the  state,  will  not,  I 
think,  be  questioned. 

One  thing  more,  I  deem  it  important  to  say,  before  I  dis- 
miss the  present  lopick.  The  finest  constitution,  the  growth 
of  many  years,  may  be  ruined  in  a  few  months.  However 
good  the  health  of  a  student  may  be  when  he  enters  college, 
it  requires  much  care  and  pains  to  preserve  it ;  and  there  is 
a  very  common  mistake  as  to  the  real  cause  why  so  many 
fail.  Hard  study  has  all  the  credit  of  undermining  many  a 
constitution,  which  would  have  sustained  twice  as  much  ap- 
plication, and  without  injury  too,  by  early  rising  and  walking, 
and  by  keeping  up  a  daily  acquaintance  with  the  saw  and 
the  axe.  Worthless  in  themselves,  then,  as  are  the  elements 
which  compose  this  mortal  frame,  so  essential  are  its  health- 
ful energies  to  the  operations  of  mind,  that  so  long  as  the 
body  and  soul  remain  united,  too  much  care  can  hardly  be 
bestowed  upon  the  former  for  the  sake  of  the  latter. 


LESSON  CIIL 

Appeal  in  favour  of  the  Surviving  Heroes  of  the  Revolu- 
tion,— E.  Everett. 

Nor  let  us  forget,  on  the  return  of  this  eventful  day,  the 
men,  who,  when  the  conflict  of  counsel  was  over,  stood  for- 
ward in  that  of  arms.     Yet  let  me  not  by  faintly  endeavour- 


Lesson  104.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  243 

ing  to  sketch,  do  deep  injustice  to  the  story  of  their  exploits. 
The  efforts  of  a  life  would  scarce  suffice  to  paint  out  this 
picture,  in  all  its  astonishing  incidents,  in  all  its  mingled 
colours  of  sublimity  and  woe,  of  agony  and  triumph. 

But  the  age  of  commemoration  is  at  hand.  The  voice  of 
our  fathers'  blood  begins  to  cry  to  us,  from  beneath  the  soil, 
which  it  moistened.  Time  is  bringing  forward,  in  their 
proper  relief,  the  men  and  the  deeds  of  that  high-souled  day. 
The  generation  of  contemporary  worthies  is  gone  ;  the  crowd 
of  the  unsignalized  great  and  good  disappears ;  and  the 
leaders  in  war  as  well  as  council,  are  seen,  in  Fancy's  eye, 
to  take  their  stations  on  the  mount  of  Remembrance. 

They  come  from  the  embattled  cliffs  of  Abraham  ;  they 
start  from  the  heaving  sods  of  Bunker's  Hill ;  they  gather 
from  the  blazing  lines  of  Saratoga  and  Yorktown,  from  the 
blood-dyed  waters  of  the  Brandy  wine,  from  the  dreary  snows  of 
Valley  Forge,  and  all  the  hard  fought  fields  of  the  war.  With 
all  their  wounds  and  all  their  honours,  they  rise  and  plead 
with  us,  for  their  brethren,  who  survive  ;  and  bid  us,  if  indeed 
we  cherish  the  memory  of  those,  who  bled  in  our  cause,  to 
show  our  gratitude,  not  by  sounding  words,  but  by  stretch- 
ing out  the  strong  arm  of  the  country's  prosperity,  to  help 
the  veteran  survivers  gently  down  to  their  graves. 


LESSON  CIV. 

The  civilization  of  Africa,  the  surest  means  of  terminating 
African  Slavery, — Bacon, 

By  civilizing  and  christianizing  the  African  continent,  the 
degradation  of  Africans  in  other  countries  may  be  removed. 
Such  a  civilization  of  that  continent  implies,  at  its  outset,  the 
final  abolition  of  the  slave  trade  ;  in  its  progress,  the  erection 
of  free,  independent  and  intelligent  nations ;  and  in  its  com- 
pletion, all  the  industry  and  enterprise  of  a  thronging,  active, 
enlightened  population.  What  will  be  the  influence  of  such 
changes  on  the  condition  of  this  degraded  race  in  other  lands  \ 

Let  the  slave  trade  be  abolished,  and  that  which  has  been 
at  once  the  cause  of  their  present  wretchedness,  and  one  grand 
obstacle  in  the  way  of  their  ijnprovement,  is  done  away. 
While  these  men  are  sold  like  cattle  in  the  shambles,  what 
Qan    you  do  for   the  general  elevation  of  their  character? 


244  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  104. 

While  thousands  of  fresh  victims  are  continually  poured  in 
to  swell  the  tide  of  misery,  what  can  you  do  for  the  alleviation 
of  this  wo  ?  Let  the  fountain  be  dried  up,  from  which  the 
misery  has  flowed,  and  you  may  operate  on  the  evil  to  be 
remedied,  with  some  prospect  of  success. 

Let  there  be  erected  one  free  and  intelligent  African  em- 
pire, and  the  reproach  of  the  negro  will  cease.  There  is  a 
scorn,  which  follows  the  very  name  of  an  African.  He  is  hunt- 
ed down  by  a  contempt,  which  he  can  never  escape.  He  is 
treated — wliatever  may  be  your  opinion  about  his  native 
character — he  is  in  fact  treated  as  an  inferiour  being.  He  is 
one  of  that  people,  who  have  been  meted  out  and  trodden 
down,  plundered  and  sold,  persecuted  and  oppressed  from  the 
beginning  of  time.  And  the  consciousness,  which  he  cannot 
evade,  that  he  is  despised  by  others,  teaches  him,  at  length, 
to  despise  himself,  and  robs  him  of  the  dignity  of  human 
character. 

Now  let  there  be  erected  one  Christian  African  Republick 
— powerful,  enlightened,  and  happy,  like  ours — whose  flag 
shall  wave  in  the  breezes  of  every  ocean,  whose  commerce 
shall  carry  wealth  to  every  port,  whose  ambassadors  shall 
demand  respect  in  every  capital,  whose  patriots  and  sages^ 
whose  poets  and  artists  shall  share  the  admiration  of  every 
people ;  and  this  reproach,  degrading  as  crime,  and  cruel  as 
the  grave,  will  cease.  The  negro,  exulting  in  the  conscious- 
ness of  manhood,  will  stretch  out  his  hand  unto  him  who  hath 
made  of  one  blood  all  nations,  to  dwell  on  the  face  of  the  earth. 

Once  more.  Let  Africa  be  filled  with  the  industry  of  a 
free  and  enterprising  population,  and  slavery  can  exist  no 
longer.  This  slaveiy  is  the  bitterest  ingredient  in  that  misery, 
which  we  deplore.  In  all  that  we  have  contemplated,  there  is 
nothing  more  oppressive  to  our  best  feelings,  than  the  thought 
that  so  many  millions  of  our  fellow  men  are  the  subjects  of  a 
thraldom,  which  despoils  th'em  of  the  attributes  of  intellectual 
and  moral,  and  even  of  social  existence,  and  makes  them  the 
mere  machines  of  avarice.     But  let  Africa  be  civilized, 

AND    SLAVERY    MUST    BE    ANNIHILATED. 

It  is  a  principle,  which  the  progress  of  political  science  has 
clearly  and  indisputably  established — a  principle,  that  illus- 
trates at  once,  the  wisdom  of  the  Creator  and  the  blindness  of 
human  cupidity — that  it  is  cheaper  to  hire  the  labour  of  free- 
men, than  it  is  to  compel  the  labour  of  slaves.  From  this 
principle  it  results,  that  the  productions  of  slave  labour  can 
never  enter  into  competition,  on  equal  terms,  with  the  pro- 


Lesson  105.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  245 

ductions  of  free  labour.  An  illustration  of  this  is  furnished 
by  the  fact,  that  the  sugar  of  the  West-Indies,  which  is  pro- 
duced by  the  labour  of  slaves,  demands  the  assistance  of  a  high 
protecting  duty,  before  it  can  contend  in  the  English  market 
with  the  sugar  of  the  East,  which  is  raised  by  the  hands  of 
freemen.  We  see  then,  that  the  system  of  slavery  can  be 
supported  in  a  country,  only  so  long  as  the  slave-holders  can 
retain  either  a  complete  or  partial  monopoly  of  such  articles 
as  they  are  able  to  raise  by  the  labour  of  their  drudges.  And 
thus,  whenever  the  civilized  and  enterprising  population  of 
Africa  shall  send  forth  their  productions  to  compete  in  every 
market,  wkh  the  sugar,  and  cotton,  and  coffee  of  the  West- 
Indies  and  Southern  America,  the  planters  will  be  compelled, 
by  that  spirit  of  improvement,  which  always  springs  from  com- 
petition, to  substitute  the  cheaper  process  for  the  more  ex- 
pensive, to  adopt  the  labour  of  freemen  instead  of  the  labour 
of  slaves,  in  a  word  to  convert  their  slaves  into  freemen. 

The  conclusion  from  the  principle,  which  I  have  attempted 
to  illustrate  and  apply  is,  let  Africa  be  civilized  and  every 
African  throughout  the  world  will  be  made  a  freeman,  not  by 
some  sudden  convulsion,  demolishing  the  fabrick  of  society, 
but  by  the  tendencies  of  nature  and  the  arrangements  of  Prov- 
idence, slowly  yet  surely  accomplishing  the  happiness  of  man. 
The  change  will  be  certain  indeed,  as  the  revolution  of  the 
seasons,  but  gradual  as  the  growth  of  an  empire. 


LESSON  CV. 
Evergreens. — Pinkney. 

When  Summer's  sunny  hues  adorn 
Sky,  forest,  hill  and  meadow, 

The  foliage  of  the  evergreens, 
In  contrast,  seems  a  shadow. 

But  when  the  tints  of  Autumn  have 

Their  sober  reign  asserted, 
The  landscape  that  cold  shadow  shows. 

Into  a  light  converted. 

21* 


246  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Le^^son  lOG 

Thus  thoughts  tliat  frown  upon  our  mirth. 

Will  smile  upon  our  sorrow, 
And  many  dark  fears  of  today, 

May  be  bright  hopes  tomorrow. 


LESSON  CVL 

Evening, — Anonymois. 

The  sun  is  set,  the  evening  gray, 
Slowly  resumes  her  dusky  sway, 

The  stars  are  feebly  shining ; 
The  night  wind  scarcely  has  the  pow'r 
To  waft  the  fragrance  from  the  flower. 

On  every  leaf  reclining. 

And,  save  the  murmur  of  yon  stream, 
Reflecting  back  bright  Luna's  beam 

In  silver  radiance  glancing. 
No  sound  assails  the  list'ning  ear, 
But  solemn  silence,  deep  and  clear, 

Seems  o'er  the  world  advancing. 

At  this  mild  hour  of  eve,  the  njind 
From  every  base  alloy  refined, 

Its  grosser  thoughts  is  losing ; 
While  calmer  reason  bears  the  sway, 
And  pride  and  passion,  both  give  way, 

Mild  nature's  page  perusing. 


LESSON  CVIT. 

fufhislrious  Habits  necessary  to  a  good  Education, — Nouth' 
American  Review. 

When  cu.ir  fathers  were  children,  they  learned  nothing, 
without  paying  for  it  a  full  price,  in  labour  ;  our  children 
have  all  sorts  of  expedients  and  facilities  contrived,  by  wliich 
they  may  play  and  learn  too,  and  perhaps  the  result  will  be, 
that  their  children  \\\\\   refuse  to  be  cheated  into  learning. 


Lesson  107.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  24T 

and  so  play  all.  In  these  days,  every  science  and  every  art 
is  made  a  play-thing.  One  child  is  putting  together  dissect- 
ed maps,  and  thereby  learns  geography  ;  another  is  diverting 
himself  with  a  musical  game,  very  scientifick  in  its  principles, 
and  no  doubt  equally  amusing  and  instructive  ;  and  another, 
is  set  to  work  upon  the  royal  game  of  Goose,  by  way  of  be- 
coming an  expert  arithmetician  Now  there  is  some  danger, 
perhaps,  lest  the  children  should  carry  the  sport  too  far,  and 
when  their  instructors  turn  the  things  thej^  would  teach  into 
games,  the  children  may  possibly  make  game  of  the  things 
they  should  learn. 

Man  must  work  ;  he  cannot  earn  physical  or  intellectual 
sustenance  or  wealth,  but  by  physical  or  intellectual  labour. 
All  the  concerns  of  this  world  must  undergo  a  great  change, 
and  stand  in  very  different  relations  to  each  other,  before 
this  decree  will  be  revoked  ;  at  all  events,  it  stands  now,  and 
is  not  to  be  evaded  ;  and  therefore,  a  knowledge  of  the  ele- 
ments of  the  sciences, — that  is,  a  superficial,  indistinct,  in- 
digested knowledge  of  certain  desultory  and  very  general 
elements  of  a  few  sciences, — is  hardly  recompense  enough 
for  the  abandonment  of  a  habit  of  prompt,  willing,  and  earnest 
exertion,  which  a  boy  may  and  should  acquire  while  his 
character  is  growing. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  since  children  must  and  ought  to 
play,  why  not  make  their  amusements  edifying  and  useful, 
in  such  measure  and  manner  as  may  be  possible  ?  We  have 
no  objections  to  this,  so  long  as  their  amusements  are  knowa 
and  regarded  as  what  they  really  are.  It  is  only  wiien  they 
are  considered  important  vehicles  of  instruction,  that  they 
become  worse  than  useless  by  favouring  the  prevalent  mis- 
take, that  the  principal  object  of  education  is  not  to  invigo- 
rate, but  replenish  the  mind,  and  the  yet  more  injurious 
notion,  that  a  good  thing  may  be  gotten  v/ithout  toil. 

Set  your  child  at  work  upon  a  task,  suited  to  his  age  and 
capacity  ;  make  him  work  as  hard  as  you  can,  without  doing 
liim  harm,  and  compel  him  to  learn  and  feel  that  labour,  the 
necessary  evil  of  life,  must  be  borne,  and  if  borne  patiently, 
diminishes,  till  in  the  end  it  disappears.  A  distinct  practical 
conviction  of  this  truth  is  worth,  a  hundred  times  over,  all 
the  musick,  or  geography,  or  history,  or  m.athematicks,  that 
a  cliild  ever  learned  from  his  playthings,  since  the  fashion 
of  this  day  came  in. 


3*8  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  108. 

LESSON  CVIIL 

Influence  of  Literature,  and  especially  of  the  Sacred  Scrip- 
tures.— Wayland. 

Of  all  the  books,  with  which,  since  the  invention  of  writ- 
ing, this  world  has  been  deluged,  the  number  of  those,  is 
very  small,  which  have  produced  any  perceptible  effect  on  the 
mass  of  human  character.  By  far  the  greater  part  have 
been,  even  by  their  contemporaries,  unnoticed  and  unknown. 
Not  many  an  one  has  made  its  little  mark  upon  the  genera- 
tion that  produced  it,  though  it  sunk  with  that  generation  to 
utter  forgetful ness.  But,  after  the  ceaseless  toil  of  six  thou- 
sand years,  how  few  have  been  the  works,  the  adamantine 
basis  of  whose  reputation  has  stood  unhurt  amid  the  fluctua- 
tions of  time,  and  whose  impression  can  be  traced  through 
successive  centuries  on  the  history  of  our  species. 

When,  however,  such  a  work  appears,  its  effects  are  abso- 
lutely incalculable  ;  and  such  a  work,  you  are  aware,  is  the 
Iliad  of  Homer.  Who  can  estimate  the  results  produced  by 
this  incomparable  effort  of  a  single  mind  !  Who  can  tell 
what  Greece  owes  to  this  first-born  of  song  !  Her  breathing 
marbles,  her  solemn  temples,  her  unrivalled  eloquence,  and 
her  matchless  verse,  all  point  us  to  that  transcendent  genius, 
who,  by  the  very  splendour  of  his  own  effulgence,  woke  the 
human  intellect  from  the  slumber  of  ages. 

It  was  Homer,  who  gave  laws  to  the  artist ;  it  was  Homer, 
who  inspired  the  poet ;  it  was  Homer,  who  thundered  in  the 
senate  ;  and  more  than  all,  it  was  Homer,  who  was  sung  by 
the  people  ;  and,  hence  a  nation  was  cast  into  the  mould  of 
one  mighty  mind,  and  the  land  of  the  Iliad,  became  the 
region  of  taste,  the  birthplace  of  the  arts.  Nor  was  this  in- 
fluence confined  within  the  limits  of  Greece.  Long  after  the 
sceptre  of  empire  had  passed  westward,  genius  still  held  her 
court  on  the  banks  of  the  Ilyssus,  and  from  the  country  of 
Homer  gave  laws  to  the  world. 

The  light,  which  the  blind  old  man  of  Scio  had  kindled  in 
Greece,  shec-  its  radiance  over  Italy  ;  and  thus  did  he  awak- 
en a  second  nation  to  intellectual  existence.  And  we  may 
form  some  idea  of  the  power,  which  this  one  work  has  to  the 
present  day  exerted  over  the  mind  of  man,  by  remarking, 
that  **  nation  after  nation,  and  century  after  century,  has 
been  able  to  do  little  more  than  transpose  his  incidents,  nevi- 
name  his  characters,  and  paraphrase  his  sentiments." 


Lesson  108.]  AMERICAN  LITEHATtJRE.  249 

But,  considered  simply  as  an  intellectual  production,  who 
will  compare  the  poems  of  Homer  with  the  Holy  Scriptures 
of  the  Old  and  New  Testament  1  Where  in  the  Iliad  shall 
we  find  simplicity  and  pathos,  which  shall  vie  with  the  narra- 
tive of  Moses,  or  maxims  of  conduct  to  equal  in  wisdom  the 
Proverbs  of  Solomon,  or  sublimity  which  does  not  fade  away 
before  the  conceptions  of  Job,  or  David,  of  Isaiah,  or  St. 
John. 

But  I  cannot  pursue  this  comparison.  I  feel  that  it  is  do- 
ing wrong  to  the  mind,  which  dictated  the  Iliad,  and  to  those 
other  mighty  intellects,  on  whom  the  light  of  the  holy  oracles 
never  shined.  Who,  that  has  read  his  poem,  has  not  observ- 
ed how  he  strove,  in  vain  to  give  dignity  to  the  mythology  of 
his  time  1  Who  has  not  seen  how  the  religion  of  his  coun- 
try, unable  to  support  the  flight  of  his  imagination,  sunk 
powerless  beneath  him  1 

It  is  the  unseen  world,  where  the  master  spirits  of  our 
race  breathe  freely  and  are  at  home  ;  and  it  is  mournful  to 
behold  the  intellect  of  Homer  striving  to  free  itself  from  the 
conceptions  of  materialism,  and  then  sinking  down  in  hope- 
less despair,  to  weave  idle  fables  about  Jupiter  and  Juno, 
Apollo  or  Diana.  But  the  difficulties,  under  which  he 
laboured,  are  abundantly  illustrated  by  the  fact,  that  the  light, 
which  he  poured  upon  the  human  intellect,  taught  other  ages 
how  unworthy  was  the  religion  of  his  day  of  the  man,  who 
was  compelled  to  use  it.  *' It  seems  to  me,"  says  Longinus, 
"  that  Homer,  when  he  ascribes  dissensions,  jealousies,  tears, 
imprisonments,  and  other  afflictions  to  his  deities,  hath,  as 
much  as  was  in  his  power,  made  the  men  of  the  Iliad  gods, 
and  the  gods  men.  To  man,  when  afflicted,  death  is  the 
termination  of  evils  ;  but  he  hath  made  not  only  the  nature 
but  the  miseries  of  the  gods  eternal." 

If,  then,  so  great  results  have  flowed  from  this  one  effort 
of  a  single  mind,  what  may  we  not  expect  from  the  combined 
effort  of  several,  at  least  his  equals  in  power  over  the  human 
heart  T  If  that  one  genius,  though  groping  in  the  thick 
darkness  of  absurd  idolatry,  wrought  so  glorious  a  transfor- 
mation in  the  character  of  his  countrymen,  what  may  we 
not  look  for  from  the  universal  dissemination  of  those  writ- 
ings, on  whose  authors  was  poured  the  full  splendour  of 
eternal  truth  1  If  unassisted  human  nature,  spell-bound  by 
a  childish  mythology,  have  done  so  much,  wha,t  may  we  not 
hope  for,  from  the  supernatural  efforts  of  pre-eminent  genius, 
which  spake  as  it  was  moved  by  the  Holy  Ghost  ? 


250  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  109. 

LESSON    CIX. 

A  Desire  for  Military  Conquest  detrimental  to  the  National 
Welfare, — Hopkinson. 

The  matters  in  controversy,  seem  to  me,  to  obtain  infinite 
importance,  from  the  connection  they  have  with  the  charac- 
ter of  our  country.  We  stand  in  a  most  peculiar  and  re- 
sponsible situation  in  this  respect.  The  nations  of  Europe, 
from  their  contiguity,  may  be  said  to  form  a  family,  or  an 
association,  controled  by,  and  accountable  to  each  other. 
They  have  alliances,  which  all  respect ;  ties,  which  all  must 
feel ;  balances  and  checks,  which  all  are  interested  to  pre- 
serve, and  rules  of  conduct,  in  their  mutual  intercourse, 
which  all  are  made  to  obey.  The  American  people,  remov- 
ed far  from  the  rest  of  the  civilized  world,  and  placed  beyond 
the  control  of  the  policy  or  force  of  Europe,  have  none  of 
those  means  to  keep  them  in  the  path  of  justice.  They  ac- 
knowledge no  guide  authorized  to  direct  them,  but  their  own 
consciences  ;  and  feel  no  responsibility,  but  to  their  God. 

This,  sir,  is  a  trying  and  tempting  situation  ;  placing  us 
on  the  highest  ground  of  virtue,  if  we  do  not  abuse  it ;  but 
exposing  us  to  infinite  danger  from  the  suggestions  of  pride, 
interest,  and  self-love.  But,  sir,  let  us  not  forget,  that  we 
belong  to  the  family  of  civilized  nations,  and  be  most  forward 
to  prove  our  devotion  to  those  rules  of  conduct,  which  the 
experience  and  wisdom  of  ages  have  established,  as  neces- 
sary for  the  peace  and  usefulness  of  all.  Let  us  cherish 
those  laws,  which  increase  the  blessings  of  peace,  and  miti- 
gate the  calamities  of  war. 

The  dangers,  which  our  country  may  apprehend  from  the 
encouragement  of  a  military  spirit  in  our  people,  have  been 
eloquently  portrayed  on  this  occasion.  It  is  undoubtedly 
true,  that  a  strong  disposition  of  this  sort,  has  been  manifest- 
ed, and  was  rapidly  rising,  in  the  people  of  the  United  States ; 
and  a  greater  evil  could  hardly  befall  us,  than  the  consumma- 
tion of  its  tendency.  There  is  something  so  infatuating  in 
the  pomp  and  triumphs  of  war,  that  a  young  and  brave  peo- 
ple, who  have  known  but  little  of  its  destructive  miseries, 
may  require  to  be  guarded  against  falling  into  the  snare,  and 
led  to  direct  their  energies  to  other  and  better  objects. 

It  is  worthy  of  remark  that,  in  the  various  ways,  in  which 
the  genius  and  powers  of  men  display  themselves,  the  mili- 
tary course  is  the  only  one,  eminently  dangerous  to  his  species. 


Lesson  110.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  251 

Genius,  in  every  other  department,  however  dazzling  and 
powerful,  is  never  hurtful, — is  generally  a  blessing  to  the 
world.  The  stupendous  genius  of  Newton,  elevated  the  dig- 
nity of  man,  and  brought  him  nearer  to  his  God  ;  it  gave 
him  a  path  to  walk  in  the  firmament,  and  knowledge  to  hold 
converse  with  the  stars.  The  erratick  comet  cannot  elude 
his  vigilance  ;  nor  the  powerful  sun  disappoint  his  calcula- 
tion. Yet  this  genius,  so  mighty  in  the  production  of  good, 
was  harmless  of  evil  as  a  child.  It  never  inflicted  injury  or 
pain,  on  any  thing,  that  lives  or  feels.  Shakspeare  prepared 
an  inexhaustible  feast  of  instruction  and  delight  for  his  own 
age,  and  the  ages  to  come ;  but  he  brought  no  tears  into  the 
world,  but  those  of  fictitious  woe,  which  the  other  end  of 
his  wand  was  always  ready  to  cure.  It  is  military  genius 
alone,  that  must  be  nourished  with  blood,  and  can  find  em- 
ployment, only  in  inflicting  misery  and  death  upon  man. 


LESSON   ex. 
Dialogue. — Cooper. 

Scene. — An  apartment  of  Mr.  Wharton's  country  seat  at  the  Locusts.-— 
Mr.  Wharton  alone. 

Enter  Major  Dunwoodie. 

Major  D,  Mr.  Wharton,  in  times  like  these,  we  need  not 
stand  on  idle  ceremony— one  of  my  officers,  I  am  afraid,  is 
hurt  mortally  ;  and  presuming  on  your  hospitality,  I  have 
brought  him  to  your  door. 

Mr,  Wharton.  I  am  happy,  Sir,  that  you  have  done  so, 
the  necessitous  are  always  welcome,  and  doubly  so  is  he, 
being  the  friend  of  Major  Dunwoodie. 

Major  D.  Sir,  I  thank  you  for  myself,  and  in  behalf  of 
him,  who  is  unable  to  render  you  his  thanks  ;  if  then  you 
please,  we  will  have  him  conducted  where  the  surgeon  may 
see  and  report  upon  his  case  without  delay. 

Mr.  Wharton.     He  can  be  accommodated  in  this  room. 

[Exit  Major  Dunwoodie. 
Captain  Singleton^  wounded,  is  brought  in  by  several  dragoons. 
Re-enter  Major  Dvnicoodie  with  Dr.  Sitgreaves. 

Major  D.  Hasten — Sitgreaves — hasten,  or  George  Single- 
ton will  die  from  loss  of  blood. 

Dr.  Sitgreaves.     What,   Singleton  !     God   forbid — ^bless 


252  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  110. 

mc,  is  it  George  ? — Poor  little  George.  lie  is  alive  though, 
and  while  there  is  life,  there  is  hope.  This  is  the  first  serious 
case  I  have  had  today,  where  the  patient  was  not  already 
dead.  Captain  Lawton  teaches  his  men  to  strike  with  so 
little  discretion — poor  George — bless  me,  it  is  a  musket-bullet. 
(he  examines  the  wound)  When  it  is  only  a  bullet,  I  have 
always  some  hopes — there  is  a  chance  that  it  hits  nothing 
vital — but  bless  me.  Captain  Lawton's  men  cut  so  at  ran- 
dom— generally  sever  the  jugular,  or  let  out  the  brains,  and 
both  are  so  difficult  to  remedy — the  patient  generally  dying 
before  one  can  get  at  him.  It  is  easy  to  tell  where  Law- 
ton's  troop  charge  in  a  battle,  they  cut  so  at  random,  (probes 
the  wound.  The  j^td lent  shrinks,)  There  has  been  nothing 
l)efore  the  probe  in  that  quarter.  Ah !  there  is  some  pleas- 
ure in  following  a- bullet.  It  may  be  said  to  meander  through 
the  human  body,  injuring  nothing  vital ;  but  as  for  Captain 
liawton's  men 

Major  D,     Tell  me,  is  there  hope — can  you  find  the  ball  ? 

Dr,  S.  It's  no  difiicult  matter  to  find  that  which  one  has 
in  his  hand,  Major  Dunwoodie.  (showing  the  balL)  It  took 
what  that  literal  fellow,  Captain  Lawton,  calls  a  circumbendi- 
bus, a  route  never  taken  by  the  swords  of  his  men,  notwith- 
standing the  nmltiplied  pains  I  have  been  at  to  teach  him  how 
to  cut  scientifically.  Now  I  saw  a  horse  this  day,  with  his 
head  half  severed  from  his  body. 

Major  D,  That  was  some  of  my  own  handy-work  ;  I 
killed  that  horse  myself. 

Dr.  S,     You  !  You  !  but  then  you  knew  it  was  a  horse. 

Major  D.     I  had  such  suspicions,  I  own. 

Dr.  S.  Such  blows  alighting  on  the  human  frame,  are 
"fatal,  and  set  at  nought  all  the  benefits,  which  flow  from  the 
lights  of  science  ;  they  are  useless  in  a  battle,  for  disabling 
your  foe,  is  all  that  is  required.  I  have  sat,  Major  Dun- 
woodie, many  a  cold  hour,  while  Captain  Lawton  has  been 
engaged,  and  after  all  my  expectation,  not  a  single  pase,  worth 
recording,  has  occurred — all  scratches  or  death  wounds  ; 
ah  !  the  sabre  is  a  sad  weapon,  in  unskilful  hands.  Now. 
Major  Dunwoodie,  many  are  the  hours  I  have  thrown  away, 
in   endeavouring  to  impress  this  on   Captain  Lawton.     Ah  ! 

poor  George — it  is  a  narrow  chance — but 

Enter  a  messenger,  who  speaks  apart  with  Major  DrNwoooiE. 

Major  D.  I  must  to  the  field  again,  (aside  to  Sitgrcaves.) 
What  think  you,  will  he  live  ? 

Dr.  S.     He  will. 

Major  D.  Thank  God  !  \ErAt. 


Lesson  111.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  *253 

LESSON  CXI. 

Dialogue* — Cooper. 

Scene,  the  Parlour  at  the  Locusts.     The  British  officerSj  Captain 
Wharton,  and  Colonel  Wellmere. 

Enter  Dr.  Sitgreaves,  carelessly  attired  in  a  morning  gown, 
slippers,  spectacles.^  S^c.  with  a  case  of  surgical  instruments 
in  his  hand. 

Dr.  S.  (to  Col,  Wellmere)  Sir,  I  am  advised  you  are 
in  want  of  my  aid.  Heaven  grant  it  is  not  Captain  Lawton 
with  whom  you  came  in  contact,  in  which  case  I  may  be 
too  late. 

Col,  W.  (haughtily)  There  must  be  some  mistake,  sir, 
it  was  a  surgeon  that  Major  Dunwoodie  was  to  send  me,  and 
not  an  old  woman. 

Capt,  Whar,    'Tis  Dr.  Sitgreaves.   The  multitude  of  his  en- 
gagements today,  has  prevented  his  usual  attention  to  his  attire- 
Co/,  W,     Your  pardon,  sir.    (takes  off  his  coat^  and  shows 
a  very  slight  loound  on  his  arm,) 

Dr.  S,  If,  sir,  the  degrees  of  Edinburgh — walking  your 
London  hospitals — amputating  some  hundreds  of  limbs — 
operating  on  the  human  frame,  in  every  shape,  that  is  war- 
ranted by  the  lights  of  science,  a  clear  conscience,  and  the 
commission  of  the  Continental  Congress,  can  make  a  sur- 
geon, then  I  am  one. 

Col,  W,  Your  pardon,  sir,  Captain  Wharton  has  account- 
ed for  my  error. 

Dr.  S.  For  which  I  thank  Captain  Wharton,  (arranging 
his  amputating  instruments  on  the  table)  Where  are  you 
hurt,  sir  ?  What,  is  it  thea  this  scratch  in  the  shoulder  1 
In  what  manner  might  you  have  received  this  wound,  sir  ? 

Col.  W.     From  the  sword  of  a  rebel  dragoon. 

Dr,  S.  Never  !  Even  the  gentle  George  Singleton  would 
not  have  breathed  on  you  so  harmlessly,  (takes  a  piece  of 
sticking-plaister  from  his  pocket  and  applies  it)  There,  sir, 
that  will  answer  your  purpose,  and  I  am  certain  it  is  all  that 
is  required  of  me. 

Col,  W.  {fiercely)  What  do  you  take  to  be  my  purpose 
then,  sir  ? 

Dr,  S,  To  report  yourself  wounded  in  your  despatches ; 
and  you  may  say  that  an  old  woman  dressed  your  hurts,  for 
if  one  did  not,  one  easily  might.  [Exit. 

22  ^ 


-54  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  112. 

LESSON  CXIL 

Grandiloquence, — Anonymous. 

We  live  in  a  truly  fortunate  age  and  country,  when  and 
where  every  citizen  and  every  event  is  set  forth,  and  cele- 
brated by  a  magnificent  speech.  These  ready  speech-makers 
seem  determined  to  do  what  Milton  implored  of  his  muse, 

"  What  is  loWy  raise  and  support." 

We  are  told,  by  the  newspapers,  those  ready  vehicles  of 
ail  bladders  of  wind,  that  at  a  **  mowing  match,"  lately  got  up 
in  New  Hampshire,  the  *'  Reverend  Mr."  Somebody,  deliver- 
ed an  **  elegant  and  appropriate  address."  Now,  this  is 
nothing  to  the  style,  in  which  we  do  things  in  Massachusetts. 
We  could  relate  a  score  of  instances,  if  we  pleased,  where  as 
fme  speeches  as  ever  were  blown,  were  made  on  far  less 
occasions  than  the  one  above  mentioned.  But  we  content 
ourselves  with  a  single  instance. 

There  is,  in  a  village,  on  one  side  or  other  of  the  Connec- 
iout  river,  ^  pound,  for  the  imprisonment  of  such  unruly  four 
footed  animals  as  render  themselves  obnoxious  to  the  civil 
authority.  This  same  pound  having  lost  off  one  of  the 
hinges  of  the  gate,  it  became  a  matter  of  prudence,  to  replace 
it  by  a  new  one.  The  making  and  putting  on,  of  a  single 
hinge f  on  a  gate  of  no  great  magnitude,  is  not  a  thing  neces- 
sarily requiring  a  great  deal  of  noise,  saving  and  excepting 
what  is  made  by  the  hammer  and  the  anvil.  But  this  only 
shows  more  fully  the  vast  perfection,  to  which  the  sublime  art 
of  speech-making  is  already  brought  in  this  happy  land. 

On  this  occasion  the  Honourable  Spouter  Puffer,  was 
unanimously  chosen,  to  deliver  the  address.  And  the  able, 
and  perfect  manner,  in  which  he  did  the  thing,  shows,  clearer 
than  noon-day,  the  wisdom  of  the  choice.  The  carpenter 
had  taken  the  hinge  in  his  hand,  and  was  about  nailing  it 
fast  to  the  gate,  when  the  Honourable  gentleman  arose,  and 
after  alluding  to  the  importance  of  the  occasion,  his  utter 
inability  to  do  any  thing  like  justice  to  it,  and  craving  the 
indulgence  of  the  audience,  he  thus  proceeded. 

*' When  I  look  about  me,  and  behold  this  vast  empire  of 
our  republick,  extending  from  sea  to  sea,  and  from  ocean  to 
ocean — when  I  contemplate  the  growing  condition  of  this 
State — when  I  reflect  on  the  magnitude  of  this  country — 
when  I  consider  the  ineffable  importance  of  this  here  town. 


Lesson  113.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  255 

with  its  *  dense  and  enlightened  population,'  and  especially, 
Avhen  I  turn  my  eyes  to  the  wide  circumference  of  the  pound 
before  us,  I  am  lost  in  admiration  of  the  magnitude  of  our 
destinies. 

Europe  is  no  more  to  us,  than  a  filbert  shell  to  a  meeting- 
house. If  any  one  doubts,  that  we  have  arrived  to  the  high- 
est pinnacle  of  arts,  let  him  come  forward  today,  and  view 
the  perfection  of  this  Jiinge,  pounded,  as  it  has  been,  on  the 
anvil  of  independence,  and  beaten  into  shape,  by  the  hammer 
of  wisdom.  On  this  hinge  turns  the  '  fate  of  empires' — on 
this  hinge  depends  the  starvation  of  horses,  and  the  bringing 
into  subjection  the  flesh  of  unruly  beef  Here  they  may 
chew  the  bitter  cud  of  non-entity  ! — here  they  may  learn  to 
prize  the  inestimable  privileges  of  being  impounded  in  a  land 
of  liberty  ;  here*' — 

But  we  will  not  now  pursue  the  subject  any  further,  as  it 
is  utterly  impossible  to  do  any  thing  like  justice,  to  the  elo- 
quence of  the  Honourable  gentleman,  without  quoting  the 
whole  speech ;  which,  as  it  would  occupy  nine  closely  print- 
ed columns,  and  we  understand,  it  is  to  be  laid  before  the 
publick  in  a  pamphlet  form,  we  dismiss  for  the  present,  just 
observing,  that  the  Honourable  gentleman  surpassed  all  his 
former  examples  of  eloquence,  and  such  was  the  attention 
and  stillness  of  an  audience,  composed  of  at  least  twenty/  per- 
sons, that  the  walls  of  the  pound  might  have  fallen  down 
'slam  bang,"  without  once  being  heard. 


LESSON  CXIII. 

A  Simple  Story, — Jones. 

There  never  was  a  gentler  creature 
In  city,  village,  or  in  town, 
Or  one  of  lovelier  heart  and  feature, 
Or  better  taught  than  Anna  Brown. 
Her  step  was  like  the  antelope's, 
Her  eye  beamed  like  a  startled  kid's, 
Her  cheek  soft  blushing  with  the  hopes, 
That  youth  into  existence  bids. 

The  village  loved  her,  friendship  hushed  it ; 
And  if  the  tale  of  slander  came, 


256  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lcs5o«  113. 

Both  old  and  young  rose  up  and  crushed  it. 
And  fixed  on  other  cheeks  the  shame. 
'T  was  seldom  needed — female  virtue 
Has  in  itself  protection  strong  ; 
And,  maidens!  if  the  viper  hurt  you, 
It  must  be  ye  are  in  the  wrong. 

There  came  one  day,  to  woo  the  maiden, 
A  sparkling  youth  in  courtly  guise, — 
A  rural  lad  with  spring-flowers  laden, 
To  win  to  love,  the  beauteous  prize. 
She  takes,  oh,  simple  girl !  the  former, 
And  sends  the  village  swain  away  ; 
She  '11  find,  alas ;  his  cottage  warmer 
Than  the  proud  dwelling  of  Jack  Gray. 

She  married  Jack,  he  spent  his  living 
In  thriftless  aims,  and  deadly  brawls  ; 
And  she,  his  wickedness  forgiving. 
Dwelt  weeping  in  his  lonely  halls. 
It  seemed  as  if  her  soft  form  melted, 
So  thin  and  colourless  she  grew, 
And  they,  who  saw  how  sorrow  pelted, 
Deemed  that  her  days  on  earth  were  few^ 

He  died,  but  not  till  his  last  shilling 
Had  wanton  women's  cravings  fed  : 
He  left  her  pennylcss,  but  willing 
To  earn  by  honest  toil  her  bread. 
She  leaves  the  city,  and  its  glitter, 
Its  grandeur  oft  from  peace  apart ; 
Deeming  her  native  village  fitter 
To  hide  her  broken  hopes  and  heart. 

She  reached  it ;  scarce  her  mother  knew  her. 
So  blanched  her  cheek,  and  sunk  her  eye  ; 
And  the  old  friends,  that  gathered  to  her. 
Deemed  't  was  a  phantom  flitting  by. 
They  press  her  hands,  and  some  are  kissing. 
Try  every  art  to  make  her  glad  ; 
None  from  tlie  joyful  group  are  missing. 
E'en  Willie  comes,  the  baflled  lad. 


1.CSS0U  114.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  25T 

Hope  and  kind  nursing  to  health  brought  her, 
Again  the  rose  bloomed  on  her  cheek, 
And  lovers  gay  and  wealthy  sought  her, 
But  o-rief  has  made  her  wishes  meek. 
She  ihanks  them  for  their  splendid  proffers 
Of  jewels  rich,  and  trappings  gay ; 
But  says  she  better  likes  the  offers, 
That  Willie  makes  the  Widow  Gray. 


LESSON  CXIV. 

The  Fishennan  of  Casco  Bay, — Independent  Statesman, 

Among  the  numerous  islands  in  Casco  Bay,  there  are  few 
indeed,  which  at  present,  contain  more  than  a  single  dwell- 
ing ;  yet  a  century  ago,  the  traveller  would  have  been  cheer- 
ed with  the  mingled  hum  of  business  and  of  pleasure ;  and 
could  have  rested  beneath  many  a  hospitable  roof,  the  ruins 
of  which  are  now  scarcely  visible.  They  were  formerly 
inhabited  by  fishermen,  but  on  account  of  the  frequent  attacks 
of  the  Indians,  these  huts  were  abandoned,  and  being  of 
slight  materials,  soon  sunk  into  decay. 

Near  one  of  these  ruins,  and  not  far  from  Diamond  Cove, 
is  the  grave  of  Michael  Burn — of  whom  the  following  story 
is  related.  One  evening  as  he  sat  at  the  door  of  his  hut, 
listening  to  the  waves,  which  broke  on  the  rocks  that  sur- 
rounded him,  his  dog,  who  was  lying  at  his  feet,  suddenly 
sprang  up,  and  darting  towards  a  projecting  cliff,  plunged 
into  the  water.  The  fisherman,  presuming  from  his  earnest 
manner,  that  something  uncommon  had  attracted  his  atten- 
tion, hastened  to  the  spot,  from  which  the  animal  had  leaped ; 
but  the  night  was  too  dark  to  discover  either  the  dog,  or  the 
object  of  his  pursuit,  and  the  murmur  of  the  waves  prevent- 
ed his  ascertaining  what  direction  he  had  taken. 

For  a  long  time,  he  awaited  his  return  in  vain,  and,  at  last, 
supposing  he  was  engaged  in  a  fruitless  chase  after  some 
seals,  which  frequently  made  their  appearance,  he  retired  to 
rest.  Scarcely,  however,  had  he  sought  his  pillow,  when  the 
well  known  bark,  and  a  scratching  at  the  door,  not  only 
announced  his  return,  but  anxiety  for  his  master's  presence. 
He  opened  the  door  ;  the  dog  whined,  pulled  him  gently,  as 
if  wishing  him  to  follow,  and  suddenly  left  him. 
22* 


•258  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  114. 

Having  lighted  his  lantern,  he  left  the  hut,  the  dog  by  hii? 
barking,  directing  the  path ;  but  on  approaching  the  shore, 
judge  of  his  surprize,  to  find  by  his  faithful  animal,  a  human 
being,  and  to  all  appearance,  a  corpse.  It  was  evident  that 
the  dog  had  just  drawn  him  from  the  water,  but  there  were 
no  marks  of  violence  on  his  person.  He  opened  his  waist- 
coat— the  body  was  still  warm  ;  and,  filled  with  the  hope  of 
restoring  animation,  he  bore  it  to  his  hut.  His  exertions 
were  not  in  vain.  In  a  short  time,  the  stranger  gave  signs 
of  returning  life,  and  by  the  next  morning,  he  was  enabled 
to  converse  with  his  generous  preserver. 

**  You  probably  recollect  seeing  a  vessel  near  your  harbour 
yesterday,"  said  the  stranger.  *'  In  that  vessel,  it  was  my 
misfortune  to  have  been  a  passenger ;  Heaven  grant  that  my 
beloved  wife  has  not  likewise  fallen  a  victim  to  perfidy  and 
ingratitude.  I  am  a  native  of  America,  but  for  some  years 
past,  I  have  resided  in  France,  where  I  acquired  a  consider- 
able fortune.  Desirous  of  spending  my  last  days  in  the  land 
of  my  fathers,  I  converted  all  my  property  into  money,  and 
embarked  in  this  vessel  with  my  young  wife. 

1  loaded  the  master  and  crew  with  presents,  but  this  only 
served  to  increase  their  rapacity.  Although  I  was  aware  that 
they  knew  of  the  wealth  I  had  on  board,  I  entertained  no  fears, 
concerning  either  my  life,  or  property;  but  last  night  their 
diabolical  plans  for  the  destruction  of  both,  were  put  in  exe- 
cution. I  was  alone  on  the  quarter  deck,  wiien  a  deep  groan 
causing  me  to  turn,  I  beheld  one  of  the  passengers  struck 
down  with  an  axe,  as  he  was  approaching  to  join  me.  The 
ruffians  with  horrid  yells  rushed  forward  to  secure  a  second 
victim  ;  but,  though  nearly  overpowered  by  my  sensations, 
I  was  enabled  to  reach  the  taflfrel,  and  dropped  into  the  sea. 

"  The  darkness  of  the  night,  the  presumption  that  I  could 
not  reach  land,  and  above  all,  the  work  of  death,  which  was 
still  unfinished,  prevented  pursuit.  I  made  an  effort  to  float, 
trusting  in  Providence  for  my  guide.  But  what  was  life  I 
The  dear  woman  for  whom  I  wished  to  live,  was  deserted  at 
the  moment  she  most  needed  my  assistance.  The  shrieks  of 
the  dying  broke  upon  my  ear,  and  I  fancied  I  could  distin- 
guish the  voice  of  my  wife  imploring  mercy.  The  thought 
was  agonizing.  Three  times  I  attempted  to  regain  the  sliip, 
but  in  vain — she  was  fast  receding.  At  last,  regardless  of 
jny  fate,  I  murmured  at  that  Being  who  had  upheld  me.  I 
desired  death,  and  ceased  my  exertions,  in  order  to  hasten 
its  approach.  From  that  moment,  until  I  revived  in  your 
dwelling,  reason  left  me." 


Lesson  114]  AMEllICAN  LITERATURE.  259 

The  humane  fisherman  did  all  he  could,  to  comfort  the 
hapless  sufferer.  He  spoke  of  the  consolations  of  religion, 
and  reminded  him  of  the  submission,  which  he  owed  to  the 
divine  will  of  that  God,  from  whose  hand  he  had  already 
received  such  manifold  blessings.  '^  I  have  no  doubt,"  con- 
tinued he,  ''  that  these  men  will  soon  land  in  this  vicinity,  to 
divide  their  plunder ;  and  let  us  indulge  the  hope,  that  these 
outcasts  of  society  will  yet  be  brought  to  justice,  and  you 
restored  to  your  affectionate  wife." 

Animated  with  this  idea,  the  fisherman  rose  and  approach- 
ed the  window,  and,  as  he  had  supposed,  the  vessel  was 
distinctly  seen  standing  in  for  the  shore.  Not  a  moment  was 
to  be  lost.  Raising  the  stranger  in  his  arms,  he  carried  him 
to  his  skiff,  and  rowing  round  a  steep  bluff  of  rocks,  which 
screened  them  from  observation,  he  placed  him  in  a  cave,  retir- 
ed and  secure.  He  then  hastened  to  some  huts,  a  few  miles 
distant,  informed  the  inhabitants  of  the  bloody  transactions 
of  the  past  night,  and  conjured  them,  if  they  were  not  desti- 
tute of  courage  and  humanity,  to  aid  him  in  boarding  the 
vessel,  which  was  now  at  anchor.  A  small,  but  determined 
band,  was  immediately  collected  ;  and,  under  the  direction 
of  the  fisherman,  they  advanced  with  caution  towards  his 
humble  dwelling.  Providence  smiled  on  their  endeavours. 
They  crept  to  the  brow  of  a  crag,  beneath  which  the  pirates 
were  seated,  dividing  the  money  of  the  stranger, — and  watch- 
ing for  a  good  opportunity,  they  sprang  upon  them.  The 
confusion  of  guilt,  and  the  effects  of  intoxication,  rendered 
them  an  easy  conquest. 

They  were  carefully  secured  to  await  the  punishment  due 
to  their  crimes.  The  fisherman  and  his  comrades  then  row- 
ed off  for  the  vessel,  and  tears  of  joy  bedewed  his  weather- 
beaten  face  on  finding  that  the  wife  of  his  guest  had  escaped 
uninjured.  When  he  descended  into  the  cabin,  she  at  first 
seemed  unconscious  of  his  approach,  so  much  had  her  senses 
been  overpowered  by  the  late  scenes  of  horrour.  When  she 
was  aroused  from  the  stupor  in  which  he  had  found  her,  she 
informed  him  that  she  was  the  only  surviver  of  all  those,  who 
had  taken  passage  in  the  vessel.  "  Alas,"  exclaimed  she, 
*'  I  regret  that  my  life  was  spared.  Far  more  dear  to  me 
would  have  been  the  watery  grave  of  my  husband." 

For  some  moments,  the  tears  of  the  wretched  woman  un- 
manned our  generous  fisherman  ;  and  when  he,  at  length, 
collected  himself,  he  was  fearful  of  informing  her  too  suddenly 
that  her  husband  was  alive,  and  in  perfect  safety.     At  first> 


260  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  111 

he  tried  to  soothe  her  agitated  feelings  by  telling  her  that  the 
murderers  had  no  longer  the  power  of  doing  her  any  injury  ; 
and  that  though  she  was  separated  from  the  one  she  loved, 
i^he  should  never  want  a  protector  while  he  had  an  arm  to 
raise  in  her  defence.  As  she  became  more  calm,  he  con- 
tinued, ''  Perhaps  your  husband  may  be  still  alive.  Some  of 
the  passengers  have  been  picked  up,  severely  wounded,  it  is 
true,  but  not  beyond  the  hope  of  recovery."  At  last,  he 
gradually  unfolded  the  happiness,  that  was  in  store  for  her. 
But  with  all  his  caution,  nature  fainted  under  the  excess  of 
joyful  emotion ;  and  he  trembled  lest  all  his  labours  should 
have  been  bestowed  in  vain. 

The  joy  of  the  young  couple  at  their  meeting  cannot  be 
adequately  described.  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  after  having 
knelt  in  prayer  to  that  Being  who  had,  as  it  were,  restored 
them  to  life,  their  first  care  was  the  welfare  of  the  fisherman. 
A  sum  sufficient  to  render  him  independent,  was  immediately 
bestowed,  and  the  only  return,  wliich  thoy  requested  was,  that 
they  might  retain  the  faithful  dog,  who  had  been  so  instru- 
wiental  in  producing  this  joyous  meeting. 

But  here  the  fisherman  pleaded  in  his  turn.  He' said,  that 
his  reward  had  been  greater  than  his  labours  deserved,  or  his 
heart  required.  He  hoped  they  would  not  charge  him  with 
ingratitude ;  but  the  dog  he  said,  patting  him  on  the  face, 
had  been  his  only  companion  during  the  long  and  dreary 
winters  he  had  passed  among  those  rocks — that  there  was  no 
other  living  creature,  whom  he  could  call  his  friend — and,  in 
fine,  rather  than  part  with  him,  he  would  return  their  bounty  ; 
preferring  his  hut,  his  poverty,  and  his  dog,  to  wealth  and 
solitude. 

"Enough  has  been  said,''  replied  the  stranger;  **  you 
shall  not  part  from  him, — and  I  am  sorry  that  I  made  a 
request,  which  could  give  one  moment's  pain  to  so  good  a 
heart.  Take  this,"  added  he,  presenting  a  large  addition  to 
his  former  donation ;  "  and  if  it  be  more  than  sufficient  for 
your  own  wants,  I  know  it  will  be  employed — as  all  wealth 
ought  to  be — in  alleviating  the  distresses  of  your  fellow- 
bein^js." 


Lesson  n5.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  261 

LESSON  CXV. 

Close  of  an  Oration  on  the  Death  of  John  Adams  and  ThO" 
mas  Jefferson.  Delivered  in  Independence  Square,  in  the 
City  of  Philadelphia  on  the  24i/a  July,  1826. — J.  Ssn- 


Great  are  their  names  !  Honoured  and  revered  be  their 
memory  !  Associated  with  Washington  and  Franklin,  their 
glory  is  a  precious  possession,  enriching  our  annais,  and  ex- 
alting the  character  of  our  country. 

Greater  is  the  bright  example  they  have  left  us !  More 
precious  the  lesson,  furnished  by  their  lives,  for  our  instruc- 
tion. At  this  affecting  moment,  then,  when  we  are  assem- 
bled to  pay  the  last  tribute  of  respect,  let  us  seriously  meditate 
upon  our  duties ;  let  us  consider,  earnestly  and  anxiously 
consider,  how  we  shall  best  preserve  those  signal  blessings^ 
which  have  been  transmitted  to  us, — how  we  shall  transmit 
'them  unimpaired  to  our  posterity. 

This  is  the  honour,  which  would  have  been  most  accepta- 
ble to  these  illustrious  men.  This  is  an  appropriate  mode  of 
commemorating  the  event  we  this  day  mourn.  Let  the 
truths  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  principles  of 
the  revolution,  the  principles  of  free  government,  sink  deep 
into  our  hearts,  and  govern  all  our  conduct. 

National  Independence  has  been  achieved,  once  and  for- 
ever. It  can  never  be  endangered.  Time  has  accumulated 
strength  with  a  rapidity  unexampled.  The  thirteen  colonies, 
almost  without  an  union,  few  in  numbers,  feeble  in  means, 
are  become  in  a  lapse  of  fifty  years,  a  nation  of  twenty-four 
States,  bound  together  by  a  common  government  of  their 
own  choice,  with  a  territory  doubled,  by  peaceful  acquisition, 
with  ten  millions  of  inhabitants,  with  commerce  extending  to 
every  quarter  of  the  w^orld,  and  resources  equal  to  every 
emergency  of  war  or  peace. 

Institutions  of  humanity,  of  science,  and  of  literature,  have 
been  established  throughout  the  land.  Temples  have  arisen 
to  Him,  who  created  all  things,  and  by  whom  all  things  are 
sustained,  not  by  the  commands  of  princes  or  rulers,  nor  by 
legal  coercion,  but  from  the  spontaneous  Qfferings  of  the 
human  heart.  Conscience  is  absolutely  free  in  the  broadest 
and  most  unqualified  sense.  Industry  is  free  ;  and  human 
action  knows  no  greater  control,  than  is  indispensable  to  the 
preservation  of  rational  liberty. 


262  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoii  llO. 

What  is  our  duty  1  To  understand,  and  to  appreciate  the 
value  of  these  signal  blessings,  and  with  all  our  might  and 
strength,  to  endeavour  to  perpetuate  them.  To  take  care 
that  the  great  sources,  from  which  they  (low,  be  not  obstruct- 
ed by  selfish  passion,  nor  polluted  by  lawless  ambition,  nor 
destroyed  by  intemperate  violence. 

To  rise  to  the  full  perception  of  the  great  truth  ;  **  that 
governments  are  instituted  among  men  to  secure  human 
rights,  deriving  their  authority  from  the  consent  of  the  gov- 
erned," and  that  with  a  knowledge  of  our  own  rights,  must 
be  united  the  same  just  regard  for  the  rights  of  others,  and 
pure  affection  for  our  country,  which  dwelt  in  the  hearts  of 
the  fathers  of  the  revolution. 

In  conclusion,  allow  me  to  remind  you,  that  with  all  their 
doings  was  mingled  a  spirit  of  unaffected  piety.  In  adversi- 
ty they  humbled  themselves  before  Him,  whose  power  is 
almighty  and  whose  goodness  is  infinite.  In  prosperity  they 
gave  Him  the  thanks.  In  His  aid,  invoked  upon  their  arms 
and  counsels  with  sincerity  of  heart,  was  their  reliance  and 
hope. 

Let  us  all  be  thankful  for  the  mercies,  which,  as  a  nation, 
we  have  so  largely  experienced,  and  as  often  as  we  gratefully 
remember  those  illustrious  men,  to  whom  we  are  indebted, 
let  us  not  forget  that  their  efforts  must  have  been  unavailing, 
and  that  our  hopes  are  vain,  unless  approved  by  Him  ;  and 
in  humble  reliance  upon  His  favour,  let  us  implore  His  con- 
tinued blessing  upon  our  beloved  country. 


LESSON  CXVI. 

Lines  on  the  Death  of  Professor  Fisher, — Brainard. 

"  He  shall  not  float  upon  his  watery  bier 
Unwept." 

The  breath  of  air,  that  stirs  the  harp's  sofl  string. 

Floats  on  to  join  the  whirlwind  and  the  storm ; 
The  drops  of  dew  exhaled  from  flowers  of  spring, 

Rise  and  assume  the  tempest's  threatening  form  : 
The  first  mild  beam  of  morning's  glorious  sun, 

Ere  night,  is  sporting  in  the  lightning's  flash  : 
And  the  smooth  stream,  that  flows  in  quiet  on, 

Moves  but  to  aid  the  overwhelminff  dash 


Lesson  117.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  263 

That  wave  and  wind  can  muster,  when  the  might 
Of  earth,  and  air,  and  sea,  and  sky  unite. 

So  science  whisper'd  in  thy  charmed  ear, 

And  radiant  learning  beckon'd  thee  away. 
The  breeze  was  musick  to  thee,  and  the  clear 

Beam  of  thy  morning  promis'd  a  bright  day. 
And  they  have  wreck'd  thee  ! — But  there  is  a  shore 

Where  storms  are  hush'd,  where  tempests  never  rage  ; 
Where  angry  skies  and  blackening  seas,  no  more 

With  gusty  strength  their  roaring  warfare  wage. 
By  thee  its  peaceful  margent  shall  be  trod — 

Thy  home  is  Heaven,  and  thy  friend  is  God. 


LESSON  CXVII. 

The  Indian  Summer. — Brain ard. 

What  is  there  sadd'ning  in  the  Autumn  leaves  1 
Have  they  that  ''green  and  yellow  melancholy," 
That  the  sweet  poet  spake  of? — Had  he  seen 
Our  variegated  woods,  when  first  the  frost 
Turns  into  beauty  all  October's  charms — 
When  the  dread  fever  quits  us — when  the  storms 
Of  the  wild  Equinox,  with  all  its  wet. 
Has  left  the  land,  as  the  first  deluge  left  it. 
With  a  bright  bow  of  many  colours  hung 
Upon  the  forest  tops — he  had  not  sigh'd. 

The  moon  stays  longest  for  the  Hunter  now  ; 
The  trees  cast  down  their  fruitage,  and  the  blithe 
And  busy  squirrel  hoards  liis  winter  store  : 
While  man  enjoys  the  breeze,  that  sweeps  along 
The  bright  blue  sky  above  him,  and  that  bends 
Magnificently  all  the  forest's  pride, 
Or  whispers  through  the  evergreens,  and  asks, 
'-'  What  is  there  sadd'ning  in  the  Autumn  leaves  V 


^^64  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  11^ 

LESSON  cxvin. 

Mottle  of  Lake  Erie. — HiLb. 

Old  Erie  !  thou  hast  seen  our  banners  stream 
Proudly  above  thy  surface — thou  hast  curl'd 
Beneath  our  prows — hast  seen  the  light'ning  gleam 
From  War's  fierce  eye,  when  his  red  wing  unfurl'd. 
Broadly  the  spreading  sails  their  shadows  flung. 
The  keels  moved  slowly — sent  no  rushing  sound—- 
The  starry  flag  like  unstirr'd  drapery  hung, 
And  a  deep,  awful  silence  hover'd  round, 
Like  that  which  lingers  in  the  sultry  air. 
When  the  dread  elemental  strife  sleeps  there. 

But  flashes  soon  cross'd  quickly  o'er  the  lake, 
A  hot  fire  o'er  its  glassy  surface  play'd, 
The  thunders  burst — the  echoes  were  awake, 
And  battle  then  was  in  his  might  array'd 
There  Death  strode  round — ye  waters  !  in  your  breast 
Dyed  with  the  gushing  heart-blood  of  the  brave. 
Sunk  many  a  mortal  to  his  dreamless  rest, 
Till  '*time  shall  be  no  more,''  until  the  grave 
Shall  yield  its  inmates  up,  and  every  eye 
Wake  to  the  scenes  of  an  eternity. 

That  eagle  flag,  whose  stripes  with  blood  were  dark, 
Rose  o'er  the  cross — up  to  the  mast  it  sprung, 
The  tale  of  conquest  spreading  wide — and  hark  I 
There  is  a  shout  of  victory  on  the  tongue 
Of  all  that  gallant  band,  and  the  green  shore, 
The  rocks,  and  caves,  and  forests  send  a  cry, 
Shaken  at  sounds  to  them  unknown  before. 
And  to  that  shout  of  victory  reply. 
The  mantling  smoke  sweeps  by, — the  light 
Of  heaven  looks  down  again,  and  all  is  bright. 


Lesson  119.]  AMERICAN  LITERxlTURE.  -265 

LESSON  CXIX. 

Conclusion  of  Mr,   Webster's  Speech  in  Congress  1824,  on 
the  Greek  Question, — Webster. 

It  may  now  be  asked,  will  this  resolution  do  the  Greeks 
any  good  1  Yes,  it  will  do  them  much  good.  It  will  give 
them  courage,  and  spirit,  which  is  better  than  money.  It 
will  assure  them  of  the  publick  sympathy,  and  will  inspire 
them  with  fresh  constancy.  It  will  teach  them,  that  they  are 
not  forgotten  by  the  civilized  world,  and  to  hope  one  day  to 
occupy,  in  that  world,  an  honourable  station. 

A  farther  question  remains.  Is  this  measure  pacifick  1 
It  has  no  other  character.  It  simply  proposes  to  make  a  pe- 
cuniary provision  for  a  mission,  when  the  President  shall 
deem  such  mission  expedient.  It  is  a  mere  reciprocation  to 
the  sentiments  of  his  message  ;  it  imposes  upon  him  no  new 
duty  ;  it  gives  him  no  new  power  ;  it  does  not  hasten  or  urge 
"him  forward ;  it  simply  provides,  in  an  open  and  avowed 
manner,  the  means  of  doing,  what  would  else  be  done  out  of 
the  contingent  fund.  It  leaves  him  at  the  most  perfect 
liberty,  and  it  reposes  the  whole  matter  in  his  sole  discretion. 
He  might  do  it,  without  this  resolution,  as  he  did  in  the  case 
of  South  America, — but  it  merely  answers  the  query,  whe- 
ther on  so  great  and  interesting  a  question  as  the  condition 
of  the  Greeks,  this  House  holds  no  opinion,  which  is  worth 
expressing. 

But,  suppose  a  commissioner  is  sent,  the  measure  is  paci- 
fick still.  Where  is  the  breach  of  neutrality  1  Where  a 
just  cause  of  offence  ?  And  besides,  Mr.  Chairman,  is  all 
the  danger  in  this  matter  on  one  side  ?  may  we  not  inquire, 
whose  fleets  cover  the  Archipelago  ?  may  we  not  ask,  what 
would  be  the  result  to  our  trade,  should  Smyrna  be  block- 
aded ?  A  commissioner  could  at  least  procure  for  us,  what 
we  do  not  now  possess — ^that  is,  authentick  information  of 
the  true  state  of  things.  The  document,  on  your  table,  ex- 
hibits a  meagre  appearance  on  this  point — what  does  it  con- 
tain ?  Letters  of  Mr.  Luriottis,  and  paragraphs  from  a  French 
paper.  My  personal  opinion  is,  that  an  agent  ought  imme- 
diately  to  be  sent ;  but  the  resolution  I  have  offered  by  no 
mean^  goes  so  far. 

Do  gentlemen  fear  the  result  of  this  resolution  in  embroil- 
ing us  with  the  Porte  ?  Why,  sir,  how  much  is  it  ahead  of 
the  whole  nation,  or  rather  let  me  ask  how  much  is  the 
23 


'^(y6  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  119. 

nation  ahead  of  it  ?  Is  not  this  whole  people  already  in  a 
tate  of  open  and  avowed  excitement  on  this  subject  ?  Does 
iot  the  land  ring  from  side  to  side  with  one  common  senti- 
ment of  sympathy  for  Greece,  and  indignation  towards  her 
oppressors  ?  Nay,  more  sir — are  we  not  giving  money  to 
this  cause  ?  More  still,  sir — is  not  the  Secretary  of  State  in 
(){)en  correspondence  with  the  president  of  the  Greek  com- 
mittee in  London  ?  The  nation  has  gone  as  far  as  it  can  go, 
Siiort  of  an  official  act  of  hostility.  This  resolution  adds  noth- 
ing beyond  what  is  already  done — nor  can  any  of  the  Euro- 
pean governments  take  offence  at  such  a  measure.  ' 

But  if  they  would,  should  we  be  withheld  from  an  honest 
expression  of  liberal  feelings  in  the  cause  of  freedom,  for  fear 
of  giving  umbrage  to  some  member  of  the  Holy  Alliance  1 
We  are  not,  surely,  yet  prepared  to  purchase  their  smiles  by 
a  sacrifice  of  every  manly  principle.  Dare  any  christian 
prince  even  ask  us  not  to  sympathize  with  a  christian  nation 
struggling  against  Tartar  tyranny  ?  We  do  not  interfere — 
we  break  no  engagemenis — we  violate  no  treaties  ;  with  the 
Porte  we  have  none. 

Mr.  Chairman,  there  are  some  things  which,  to  be  well 
done,  must  be  promptly  done.  If  we  even  determine  to  do 
the  thing  that  is  now  proposed,  we  may  do  it  too  late.  Sir, 
1  am  not  of  those,  who  are  for  withholding  aid  when  it  h 
most  urgently  needed,  and  when  the  stress  is  past,  and  the 
aid  no  longer  necessary,  overwhelming  the  sufferers  with 
caresses.  I  will  not  stand  by  and  see  my  fellow  man  drown- 
ing, without  stretching  out  a  hand  to  help  him,  till  he  has  by 
his  own  efforts  and  presence  of  mind,  readied  the  shore  in 
safety,  and  then  encumber  him  with  aid. 

^V  ith  suffering  Greece,  now  is  the  crisis  of  her  fate, — her 
great,  it  may  be,  her  last  struggle.  Sir,  while  we  sit  here 
deliberating,  her  destiny  may  be  decided.  The  Greeks,  con- 
tending with  ruthless  oppressors,  turn  their  eyes  to  us,  and 
invoke  us  by  their  ancestors,  slaughtered  wives  and  children, 
by  their  own  blood,  poured  out  like  water,  by  the  hecatombs 
of  dead  they  have  heaped  up,  as  it  were,  to  Heaven  ;  they 
invoke,  tliey  implore  us  for  some  cheering  sound,  some  look 
of  sympathy,  some  token  of  compassionate  regard. 

They  look  to  us  as  the  great  Republick  of  the  earth — and 
iliey  ask  us  by  our  common  faith,  whether  we  can  forget  that 
they  are  struggling,  as  we  once  struggled,  for  what  we  now 
so  happily  enjoy  ?  I  cannot  say,  sir,  that  they  will  succeed  : 
that  rests  with  Heaven.     But  for  myself,  sir,  if  I  should  to- 


Lesson  120.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  267 

morrow  hear  that  they  have  failed — that  their  last  phalanx 
had  sunk  beneath  the  Turkish  cimetar,  that  the  flames  of 
their  last  city  had  sunk  in  its  ashes,  and  that  nought  remain- 
ed but  the  wide  melancholy  waste  where  Greece  once  was,  I 
should  still  reflect,  with  the  most  heartfelt  satisfaction,  that  I 
have  asked  you,  in  the  name  of  seven  millions  of  freemen, 
that  you  would  give  them  at  least  the  cheering  of  one  friend- 
V  voice. 


LESSON   CXX. 
27te  Schoolmaster. — Washington  Irving. 

Among  the  worthies  of  the  village,  that  enjoy  the  peculial* 
confidence  of  Master  Simon,  is  one  who  has  struck  my  fancy 
so  much,  that  I  have  thought  him  worthy  of  a  separate  notice. 
It  is  Slingsby,  the  schoolmaster  ;  a  thin  elderly  man,  rather 
threadbare  and  slovenly  ;  somewhat  indolent  in  manner,  and 
with  an  easy  good  humoured  look,  not  often  met  with  in  his 
craft.  I  have  been  interested  in  his  favour,  by  a  few  aaecdotes, 
which  I  have  picked  up  concerning  him. 

He  is  a  native  of  the  village,  and  was  a  contemporary  and 
playmate  of  Ready  Money  Jack's,  in  the  days  of  their  boy- 
hood. Indeed,  they  carried  on  a  kind  of  league  of  mutual 
good  offices.  Slingsby  was  rather  puny,  and  withal,  some- 
what of  a  coward  ;  but  very  apt  at  his  learning.  Jack,  on 
the  contrary,  was  a  bullyboy  out  of  doors,  but  a  sad  laggard 
at  his  books.  Slingsby  helped  Jack  therefore  to  all  his  lessons, 
and  Jack  fought  all  Slingsby 's  battles,  and  they  were  insepa- 
rable friends. 

This  mutual  kindness  coHtinued  even  after  they  left  the 
school,  notwithstanding  the  dissimilarity  of  their  characters. 
Jack  took  to  ploughing  and  reaping,  and  prepared  himself  to 
till  his  paternal  acres;  while  the  other  loitered  negligently 
on  in  the  path  of  learning,  until  he  penetrated  even  into  the 
confines  of  Latin  and  mathematicks.  In  an  unlucky  hour, 
however,  he  took  to  reading  voyages  and  travels,  and  was 
smitten  with  a  desire  to  see  the  world.  This  desire  increas- 
ed upon  him  as  he  grew  up.  So,  early  one  bright  sunny 
morning,  he  put  all  his  effects  in  a  knapsack,  slung  it  on  his 
back,  took  staff*  in  hand,  and  called  in  his  way  to  take  leave 
of  his  early  schoolmate.     Jack  was  just  going  out  with  the 


268  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  120. 

plough  ;  the  friends  shook  hands  over  the  farm-house  gate  ; 
Jack  drove  his  team  a  field,  and  Slingsby  whistled  '*  over  the 
hills  and  far  away,"  and  sallied  forth  gaily  to  "  seek  his 
fortune." 

Years  and  years  passed  by,  and  young  Tom  Slingsby  was 
forgotten  ;  when,  one  mellow  Sunday  afternoon  in  autumn,  a 
thin  man,  somewhat  advanced  in  life,  with  a  coat  out  at 
elbows,  a  pair  of  old  nankeen  gaiters,  and  a  few  things  tied 
in  a  handkerchief  and  slung  on  the  end  of  a  stick,  was  seen 
loitering  through  the  village.  He  appeared  to  regard  several 
houses  attentively,  to  peer  into  the  windows  that  were  open, 
to  eye  the  villagers  wistfully  as  they  returned  from  church, 
and  then  to  pass  some  time  in  the  church-yard,  reading  the 
tomb-stones. 

At  length  he  found  his  way  to  the  farm-honse  of  Ready 
Money  Jack,  but  paused  ere  he  attempted  the  wicket ;  con- 
templating the  picture  of  substantial  independence  before 
him.  In  the  porch  of  the  house,  sat  Ready  Money  Jack,  in 
his  Sunday  dress ;  with  his  hat  upon  his  head,  his  pipe  in 
his  mouth,  and  his  tankard  before  him,  the  ''  monarch  of  all 
he  surveyed."  Beside  him  lay  his  fat  house  dog.  The 
varied  so\mds  of  poultry  were  heard  from  the  well  stocked 
farm-yard,  the  bees  hummed  from  their  hives  in  the  garden, 
the  cattle  lowed  in  the  rich  meadow  ;  while  the  crammed 
barns  and  ample  stacks,  bore  proof  of  an  abundant  harvest. 

The  stranger  opened  the  gate,  and  advanced  dubiously 
toward  the  house.  The  mastiff  growled  at  the  sight  of  him, 
but  was  immediately  silenced  by  his  master  ;  who,  taking  his 
pipe  from  his  mouth,  awaited  with  inquiring  aspect  the  address 
of  this  equivocal  personage.  The  stranger  eyed  old  Jack 
for  a  moment,  so  portly  in  his  dimensions,  and  decked  out  in 
gorgeous  apparel ;  then  cast  a  glance  upon  his  own  thread- 
bare and  starveling  condition,  and  the  scanty  bundle  which 
he  held  in  his  hand  ;  then  giving  his  shrunk  waistcoat  a 
twitch  to  make  it  meet  his  receding  waistband,  and  casting 
another  look,  half  sad,  half  humorous,  at  the  sturdy  yeoman. 
''  I  suppose,"  Said  he,  *'  Mr.  Tibbets,  you  have  forgot  old 
times  and  old  playmates." 

The  latter  gazed  at  him  with  scrutinizing  look,  but  ac- 
knowledged that  he  had  no  recollection  of  him. 

"  Like  enough,  like  enough,"  said  the  stranger,  **  every 
body  seems  to  have  forgotten  poor  Slingsby." 
''  Why  no,  sure  !  it  can't  be  Tom  Slingsby  !" 
"Yes,  but  it  is.  though,"   replied  the  other,  shaking  his 
head. 


Lesson  120.]    AMERICAN  LITEPvATURE.  269 

Ready  Money  Jack  was  on  his  feet  in  a  twinkling  ;  thrust 
out  his  hand ;  gave  his  ancient  crony  the  gripe  of  a  giant, 
and  slapping  the  other  hand  on  a  bench,  ''sit  down  there,'' 
cried  he,  "  Tom  Slingsby  !" 

A  long  conversation  ensued  about  old  times,  while  Slingsby 
was  regaled  with  the  best  cheer  that  the  farm-house  afforded  ; 
for  he  was  hungry  as  well  as  wayworn,  and  had  the  keen 
appetite  of  a  poor  pedestrian.  The  early  playmates  then 
talked  over  their  lives  and  adventures.  Jack  had  but  little 
to  relate,  and  was  never  good  at  a  long  story.  A  prosperous 
Jiie,  passed  at  home,  has  little  incident  for  narration.  Jack 
had  stuck  by  the  paternal  farm  ;  followed  the  same  plough 
that  his  forefathers  had  driven,  and  had  waxed  richer  and 
richer  as  he  grew  older. 

As  to  Tom  Slingsby,  he  was  an  exemplification  of  the  old 
proverb,  **  a  rolling  stone  gathers  no  moss."  He  had  sought 
his  fortune  about  the  world,  without  ever  finding  it ;  being  a 
thing  oftener  found  at  home  than  abroad.  He  had  been  in  all 
kinds  of  situations ;  had  learnt  a  dozen  different  modes  of 
making  a  living  ;  but  had  found  his  way  back  to  his  native 
village,  rather  poorer  than  when  he  left  it;  his  knapsack  hav- 
ing dwindled  down  into  a  scanty  bundle. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  Squire  was  passing  by  the  farm- 
house that  very  evening,  and  called  there  as  is  often  his 
custom.  He  found  the  two  schoolmates  still  gossiping  in  the 
porch,  and  according  to  the  good  old  Scottish  song,  "taking 
a  cup  of  kindness  yet,  for  auld  lang  syne."  The  Squire  was 
struck  by  the  contrast  in  appearance  and  fortunes  of  these 
early  playmates.  Ready  Money  Jack,  seated  in  lordly  state, 
surrounded  by  the  good  things  of  this  life,  with  golden  guin- 
eas hanging  to  his  very  watch  chain,  and  the  poor  pilgrim, 
Slingsby,  thin  as  a  weazel,  with  all  his  worldly  effects — his 
bundle,  hat,  and  walking  staff,  lying  on  the  ground  beside 
him. 

The  good  Squire's  heart  warmed  towards  the  cosmopolite  ; 
for  he  is  a  little  prone  to  like  such  half  vagrant  kind  of  char- 
acters. He  cast  about  in  his  mind  how  he  should  contrive 
once  more  to  anchor  Slingsby  in  his  native  village.  Honest 
Jack  had  already  offered  him  a  present  shelter  under  his 
roof,  in  spite  of  the  hints,  and  winks,  and  half  remonstrances 
of  the  shrewd  Dame  Tibbets ;  but  how  to  provide  for  his  per- 
manent maintenance,  was  the  question.  Luckily  the  Squire 
bethought  himself  that  the  village  school  was  without  a 
teacher.  A  \\it\^.  farther  conversation  convinced  him  that 
23^* 


^J^  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoyt  120, 

vSlingsby  was  as  fit  for  that,  as  for  any  thing  else ;  and  in  a 
day  or  two,  he  was  seen  swaying  the  rod  of  empire  in  the 
very  school-house,  where  he  had  often  been  horsed  in  the  days 
of  his  boyhood. 

Here  he  has  remained  for  several  years,  and  being  honour- 
ed by  the  countenance  of  the  Squire,  and  the  fast  friendship 
of  Mr.  Tibbets,  he  has  grown  into  much  importance  and 
consideration  in  the  village.  I  am  told,  however,  that  he 
still  shows,  now  and  then,  a  degree  of  restlessness,  and  a 
disposition  to  rove  abroad  again,  and  see  a  little  more  of  the 
world  ;  an  inclinatioa  which  seems  particularly  to  haunt  him 
about  spring  time.  There  is  nothing  so  difficult  to  conquer, 
as  the  vagrant  humour,  when  once  it  has  been  fully  in- 
dulged. 

Since  I  have  heard  these  anecdotes  of  poor  Slingsby,  I 
have  more  than  once  mused  upon  the  picture  presented  by 
him  and  his  schoolmate,  Ready  Money  Jack,  on  their  coming 
tdgether  again,  after  so  long  a  separation.  It  is  difficult  to 
determine  between  lots  in  life,  where  each  is  attended  with 
peculiar  discontents.  He  who  never  leaves  his  home,  repines 
at  his  monotonous  existence,  and  envies  the  traveller  whose 
life  is  a  constant  tissue  of  wonder  and  adventure  ;  while  he 
who  is  tossed  about  the  world,  looks  back  with  many  a  sigh 
on  the  safe  and  quiet  shore,  which  he  has  abandoned.  I  can- 
not help  thinking,  however,  that  the  man  that  stays  at  home 
and  cultivates  the  comforts  and  pleasures  daily  springing  up 
around  him,  stands  the  best  chance  for  happiness. 

There  is  nothing  so  fascinating  to  a  young  mind,  as  the 
idea  of  travelling,  and  there  is  very  witchcraft  in  the  old 
phrase  found  in  every  nursery  tale,  of  **  going  to  seek  one's 
fortune."  A  continual  change  of  place,  and  change  of  ob- 
ject, promises  a  continual  succession  of  adventure  and  gratifi- 
cation of  curiosity.  But  there  is  a  limit  to  all  our  enjoyments, 
and  every  desire  bears  its  death  in  its  very  gratification. 
Curiosity  languishes  under  repeated  stimulants ;  novelties 
cease  to  -excite  surprize,  until  at  length  we  cannot  wonder 
even  at  a  miracle.  He  who  has  sallied  forth  into  the  world, 
like  poor  Slingsby,  full  of  sunny  anticipations,  finds  too  soon, 
how  different  the  distant  scene  becomes  when  visited.  TJie 
smooth  })lace  roughens  as  he  approaches;  the  wild  place 
becomes  tame  and  barren  ;  the  fairy  tints,  that  beguiled  him 
on,  still  fly  to  the  distant  hill,  or  gather  upon  the  land  he  has 
left  behind,  and  every  part  of  the  landscape  is  greener  than 
the  ppot  he  standi'-  on 


Lesson  121.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  271 

LESSON  CXXL      • 

The  School. — Washington  Iuving. 

Having  given  the  reader  a  slight  sketch  of  the  village  school- 
master, he  may  be  curious  to  learn  something  concerning  his 
school.  As  the  Squire  takes  much  interest  in  the  education 
of  the  neighbouring  children,  he  put  into  the  hands  of  the 
teacher,  on  first  installing  him  in  office,  a  copy  of  Roger 
Ascham's  Schoolmaster  ;  and  advised  him,  moreover,  to  con 
over  that  portion  of  old  Peacham,  which  treats  of  the  duty 
of  masters,  and  which  condemns  the  favourite  method  of 
making  boys  wise  by  flagellatioij. 

He  exhorted  Slingsby  not  to  break  down  or  depress  the 
free  spirit  of  the  boys,  by  harshness  and  slavish  fear,  but  to 
lead  them  freely  and  joyously  on  in  the  path  of  knowledge, 
making  it  pleasant  and  desirable  in  their  eyes.  He  wished 
to  see  the  youth  trained  up  in  the  manners  and  habitudes  of 
the  peasantry  of  the  good  old  times ;  and  thus  to  lay  a  foun- 
dation for  the  accomplishment  of  his  favourite  object,  the 
revival  of  old  English  customs  and  character.  He  recom- 
mended that  all  the  ancient  holydays  should  be  observed  ;  and 
that  the  sports  of  the  boys  in  their  hours  of  play,  should  be 
regulated  according  to  the  standard  authorities  laid  down  in 
Strutt,  a  copy  of  whose  invaluable  work,  decorated  with 
plates,  was  deposited  in  the  school  house.  Above  all,  be 
exhorted  the  pedagogue  to  abstain  from  the  use  of  birch,  an 
instrument  of  instruction  which  the  good  Squire  regards  with 
abhorrence,  as  fit  only  for  the  coercion  of  brute  natures,  that 
cannot  be  reasoned  with. 

Mr.  Slingsby  has  followed  the  Squire's  instructions  to  the 
best  of  his  disposition  and  abilities.  He  never  flogs  the  boys, 
because  he  is  too  easy,  good-humoured  a  creature  to  inflict 
])ain  on  a  worm.  He  is  bountiful  in  holydays,  because  he 
loves  holydays  himself,  and  has  a  sympathy  with  the  urchins' 
impatience  of  confinement,  from  having  divers  times  experi- 
enced its  irksomeness  during  the  time  that  he  was  seeing  the 
world. 

As  to  sports  and  pastimes,  the  boys  are  faithfully  exercised 
in  all  that  are  on  record  :  quoits,  races,  prison  bars,  tip-cat, 
trap-ball,  bandy-ball,  wrestling,  leaping,  and  what  not.  The 
only  misfortune  is,  that  having  banished  the  birch,  honest 
Slingsby  has  not  studied  Roger  Ascham  sufficiently  to  find 
out  a  substitute ;    or  rather,  he  has  not  the  management  in 


272  CLASS  BOOK  OF  (L^s.on  121. 

his  nature  to  apply  one.  His  school,  therefore,  though  one 
of  the  happiest,  is  one  of  the  most  unruly  in  the  country  ; 
and  never  was  a  pedagogue  more  liked,  or  less  heeded  by  hi::r 
disciples,  than  Slingsby. 

He  has  lately  taken  a  coadjutor  worthy  of  himself,  being 
another  stray  sheep  that  has  returned  to  the  village  fold. 
This  is  no  other  than  the- son  of  the  musical  tailor,  who  had 
bestowed  some  cost  upon  his  education,  hoping  to  see  him 
one  day  arrive  at  the  dignity  of  an  exciseman,  or  at  least 
of  a  parish  clerk.  The  lad  grew  up,  however,  as  idle  and 
musical  as  his  father ;  and  being  captivated  by  the  drum  and 
fife  of  a  recruiting  party,  he  followed  them  off  to  the  army. 
He  returned  not  long  since,  out  of  money  and  out  at  the 
elbows,  the  prodigal  son  of*  the  village.  He  remained  for 
some  time,  lounging  about  the  place,  in  a  half  tattered  soldier's 
dress,  with  a  foraging  cap  on  one.  side  of  his  head,  jerking 
stones  across  the  brook,  or  loitering  about  the  tavern  door, 
a  burthen  to  his  father,  and  regarded  with  great  coldness  by 
all  the  warm  householders. 

Something,  however,  drew  honest  Slingsby  towards  the 
youth.  It  might  be  the  kindness  he  bore  to  his  father,  who 
is  one  of  the  schoolmaster's  great  cronies  ;  it  might  be  that 
secret  sympathy  which  draws  men  of  vagrant  propensities 
towards  each  other,  for  there  is  something  truly  magnetick 
in  the  vagabond  feeling  ;  or  it  might  be  that  he  remembered 
the  time  when  he  himself,  had  come  back  like  this  youngster, 
a  wreck  to  his  native  place.  At  any  rate,  whatever  the 
motive,  Slingsby  drew  towards  the  youth.  They  had  many 
conversations  in  the  village  tap-room,  about  foreign  parts,  and 
the  various  scenes  and  places  they  had  witnessed  during  their 
way-faring  about  the  world.  The  more  Slingsby  talked  with 
him,  the  more  he  found  him  to  his  taste,  and  finding  him 
almost  as  learned  as  himself,  he  forthwith  engaged  him  as  an 
assistant  or  usher  in  the  school. 

Under  such  admirable  tuition,  the  school,  as  may  be  sup- 
posed, flourishes  apace  ;  and,  if  the  scholars  do  not  become 
versed  in  all  the  liolyday  accomplishments  of  the  good  old 
times,  to  the  Squire's  heart's  content,  it  will  not  be  the  fault 
of  their  teachers.  The  prodigal  son  has  become  almost  as 
popular  among  the  boys  as  the  pedagogue  himself.  His  in- 
siructions  are  not  limited  to  the  school  hours  ;  and,  having 
inherited  the  musical  taste  and  talents  of  his  father,  he  has 
bitten  the  whole  school  with  the  mania.  He  is  a  great  hand 
at  beating  a  drum,  whicli  is  often  heard  rumbling  from  the 
rear  of  the  school  house. 


Lesson  122.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  273 

He  is  teaching  half  the  boys  of  the  village,  also,  to  play 
the  fife  and  the  pandean  pipes,  and  they  weary  the  whole 
neighbourhood  with  their  vague  pipings,  as  they  sit  perched 
on  stiles,  or  loitering  about  the  barn  doors  in  the  evenings. 
Among  the  other  exercises  of  the  school,  also,  he  has  intro- 
duced the  ancient  art  of  archery,  (one  of  the  Squire's  favourite 
themes,)  with  such  success,  that  the  whipsters  roam  in  truant 
bands  about  the  neighbourhood,  practising  with  their  bows  and 
arrows  upon  the  birds  of  the  air,  and  the  beasts  of  the  field. 
In  a  word,  so  completely  are  the  ancient  English  customs 
and  habits  cultivated  at  this  school,  that  I  should  not  be 
surprized  if  the  Squire  should  live  to  see  one  of  his  poetick 
visions  realized,  and  a  brood  reared  up,  worthy  successors  to 
Robin  Hood  and  his  merry  gang  of  outlaws. 


LESSON  CXXII. 

Falsest  Scenery  in  Neic  England. — Tudorv 

[In  a  Letter  to  an  English  Gentleman.] 

The  scenery  of  this  country  will  have  struck  you  at  once, 
as  very  different  from  that  of  Europe  : — this  difference  is 
partly  intrinsick,  and  partly  accidental, — arising  out  of  the 
kinds  and  degrees  of  cultivation.  The  most  obvious  and  ex- 
tensive view  in  which  it  differs,  is  the  redundancy  of  forest. 
A  vast  forest,  to  a  person  who  had  never  seen  one,  would 
excite  almost  as  strong  sensations,  as  the  sight  of  the  ocean 
to  him  who  beheld  it  for  the  first  time, — and  in  both  cases,  a 
long  continuance  of  the  prospect  becomes  tiresome. 

From  some  of  our  hills,  the  spectator  looks  over  an  ex- 
panse of  woods,  bounded  only  by  the  horizon,  and  sparely 
chequered  with  cultivation.  The  view  is  grand  and  impos- 
ing at  first,  but  it  will  be  more  agreeable,  and  afford  more 
lasting  gratification,  when  the  relative  proportions  of  wood 
and  open  ground  are  reversed.  The  most  cultivated  parts  of 
these  States  approach  the  nearest  to  some  of  the  most  cover- 
'ed  parts  in  England,  that  are  not  an  actual  forest.  We  have 
nothing  like  the  Downs,  on  your  southern  coast, — and  fatigu- 
ing as  an  eternal  forest  may  be,  it  is  less  so  than  these  dreary 
wastes,  as  destitute  of  objects  as  the  mountain  swell  of  the 
ocean.     We  have  still  so  much  wood,  that  even  in  the  oldest 


274  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  1^>. 

eultivated  parts  of  the  country,  it  is  very  difficult  to  find  a 
panoramick  view  of  any  extent,  where  some  patches  of  the 
native  forest  are  not  to  be  found.  I  know  of  but  one  excep- 
tion, which  is  from  the  steeple  of  the  church  in  Ipswich,  in 
Essex,  Massachusetts.  This  is  one  of  our  oldest  towns,  and 
the  prospect  will  put  you  in  mind  of  the  scenery  of  your  own 
country  : — I  need  not  add,  that  it  is  a  very  pleasing  one, 
and  will  repay  you  for  the  slight  trouble  of  ascending  the 
steeple. 

The  trees,  though  there  are  too  many  of  them  at  least,  in 
masses,  must  please  the  eye  of  an  European,  from  their  vari- 
ety and  beauty,  as  well  as  novelty.  The  richness  of  our  trees 
and  shrubs  has  always  excited  the  admiration  of  botanists, 
and  the  lovers  of  landscape  gardening.  There  can  be  noth- 
ing nobler  than  the  appearance  of  some  of  the  oaks  and 
beeches  in  England,  and  the  walnuts  and  chestnuts  in  France 
and  Italy.  The  vast  size  of  these  spreading  trees  is  only 
surpassed  by  some  of  our  sycamores  on  the  banks  of  the 
Ohio. 

Our  oaks  may  sometimes  be  seen,  of  the  same  size, — and 
the  towering  white  pine  and  hemlock  reach  a  height  that  I 
have  never  seen  attained  by  trees  in  Europe  ; — but,  for  gran- 
deur of  appearance,  we  must  rely,  in  the  first  instance,  on 
the  American  elm,  that  has  been  planted  for  ornament.  Its 
colour,  its  form,  and  its  size,  place  it  much  before  the  Euro- 
pean elm  ;  it  is  one  of  our  most  majestick  trees.  There  are 
many  varieties  of  it,  very  distinct, — yet  not  so  numerous  as 
of  the  oaks,  walnuts,  and  some  others.  Of  the  former,  you 
know  we  have  between  thirty  and  forty  different  species,  and 
a  great  number  of  species  exist  of  all  our  principal  trees. 

This  variety,  in  the  hands  of  taste,  would  be  made  produc- 
tive of  the  finest  effects  in  ornamental  planting,  of  which  you 
may  find  more  specimens  in  your  own  country  than  in  this, 
though  only  a  part  of  our  riches  in  this  way  have  been  trans- 
planted by  your  gardeners.  You  will  remark  the  fresh  and 
healthy  look  of  our  forest,  as  well  as  fruit  trees,  compared 
with  those  of  all  the  northern  parts  of  Europe.  The  humidi- 
ty of  that  atmosphere,  nourishes  the  mosses,  and  a  green  coat- 
ing over  the  trunks  and  branches,  that  give  the  aspect  of 
disease  and  decay.  You  will  often  observe  the  clean  and 
smooth  bark  of  our  trees,  of  all  kinds ; — among  the  forest 
trees,  particularly  the  walnut,  maple,  beech,  birch,  6lc.  will 
be  seen  entirely  free  from  moss  or  rust  of  any  kiijd, — and 
their  trunks  form  fine  contrasts  with  the  leaves. 


Lesson  122.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  275 

You  will  have  too  much  of  forests  in  this  country,  to  go  in 
pursuit  of  one  ; — but  should  you  happen  to  visit  Nashawn, 
one  of  the  Elizabeth  Islands,  you  will  see  the  most  beautiful 
insulated  forest  in. the  United  States,  with  less  of  that  ragged, 
lank  look,  which  our  native  forests  commonly  present,  from 
the  trees  struggling  with  each  other  for  the  light,  and  run- 
ning up  to  a  great  height,  with  few  or  no  branches  ;  but  this 
one  exhibits  the  tufted  rounded  masses,  which  are  found  in 
the  groves  of  your  parks. 

You  will  be  almost  ready  to  exclaim,  with  the  **  Capricious 
Fair,"  in  Pope,  *'  O  !  odious,  odious  trees," — but  you  must 
have  patience  a  moment  longer,  while  I  mention  one  pecu- 
liarity, which  you  will  witness  in  autumn,  that  will  affect  a 
lover  of  landscape  scenery,  like  yourself,  on  seeing  it  the  first 
time,  with  surprize  as  well  as  delight.  The  rich  and  mellow 
tints  of  the  forest,  at  that  season  of  the  year,  have  oflen  fur- 
nished subjects  for  the  painter  and  the  poet  in  Europe ; — but  it 
will  hardly  prepare  you  for  the  sights  our  woods  exhibit.  I 
liave  never  seen  a  representation  of  them  attempted  in  paint- 
ing ; — it  would  probably  be  grotesque. 

Besides  all  the  shades  of  brown  and  green,  which  you  have 
in  European  trees,  there  are  the  most  brilliant  and  glaring 
colours, — bright  yellow,  and  scarlet,  for  instance, — not  mere- 
ly on  single  leaves,  but  in  masses  of  whole  trees,  with  all 
their  foliage  thus  tinged.  I  do  not  know  that  it  has  ever 
been  accounted  for,  but  it  may,  perhaps,  be  owing  to  the 
frosts  coming  earlier  here  than  in  Europe,  and  falling  on  the 
leaves,  while  the  sap  is  yet  copious,  before  they  have  begun 
to  dry  up  and  fall  off.  However  this  may  be,  the  colouring 
is  wonderful  ; — the  walnut  is  turned  to  the  brightest  yellow, 
the  maple  to  scarlet,  &/C.  Our  forests  put  on  this  harlequin 
dress  about  the  first  of  October. 

I  leave  to  your  imagination,  which  can  never  reach  the 
reality,  to  fancy  the  appearance  of  such  scenes  as  you  may 
behold  at  this  season  ; — a  cloudless  sky,  and  transparent 
atmosphere, — a  clear  blue  lake,  with  meadows  of  light,  deli- 
cate green,  backed  by  hills  and  dales,  of  these  parti-coloured, 
gorgeous  forests,  are  often  combined  to  forfn  the  most  en- 
chanting views^ 


276  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  123. 

LESSON  CXXIIL 

Salmon  River,* — Brainard. 

'Tis  a  sweet  stream — and  so,  'tis  true,  are  all 
That  undisturb'd,  save  by  the  harmless  brawl 
Of  mimick  rapid  or  slight  waterfall, 

Pursue  their  way 
By  mossy  bank,  and  darkly  waving  wood, 
By  rock,  that  since  the  deluge  fix'd  has  stood, 
Showing  to  sun  and  moon  their  crisping  flood 

By  night  and  day. 

But  yet,  there's  something  in  its  humble  rank, 
Something  in  its  pure  wave  and  sloping  bank, 
Where  the  deer  sported,  and  the  young  fawn  drank 

With  unscar'd  look  ; 
There's  much  in  its  wild  history,  that  teems 
With  all  that's  superstitious — and  that  seems 
To  match  our  fancy  and  eke  out  our  dreams, 

In  that  small  brook. 

Havock  has  been  upon  its  peaceful  plain, 

And  blood  has  dropp'd  there,  like  the  drops  of  rain  ; 

The  corn  grows  o'er  the  still  graves  of  the  slain — 

And  many  a  quiver, 
Fill'd  from  the  reeds  that  grew  on  yonder  hill, 
Has  spent  itself  in  carnage.     Now  'tis  still, 
And  whistling  ploughboys  oft  their  runlets  fill 

From  Salmon  River. 

Here,  say  old  men,  the  Indian  Magi  made 
Their  spells  by  moonlight ;  or  beneath  the  shade 
That  shrouds  sequester'd  rock,  or  dark'ning  glade, 

Or  tangled  dell. 
Here  Philip  came,  and  Miantonimo, 
And  asked  about  their  fortunes  long  ago, 
As  Saul  to  Endor,  that  her  witch  might  shov/ 

Old  Samuel. 

And  here  the  black  fox  rov'd,  that  how^l'd  and  shook 
His  thick  tail  to  the  hunters,  by  the  brook 

*  This  river  enters  into  the  Connecticut  at  East  Haddam. 


Lessan  124.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  277 

Where  they  pursued  their  game,  and  him  mistook 

For  earthly  fox  ; 
Thinking  to  shoot  him  like  a  shaggy  bear, 
And  his  soft  peltry,  stript  and  dress'd,  to  wear, 
Or  lay  a  trap,  and  from  his  quiet  lair 

Transfer  him  to  a  box. 

Such  are  the  tales  they  tell.     'Tis  hard  to  rhyme 
About  a  little  and  unnoticed  stream. 
That  few  have  heard  of — but  it  is  a  theme 

I  chance  to  love  : 
And  one  day  I  may  tune  my  rye-straw  reed, 
And  whistle  to  the  note  of  many  a  deed 
Done  on  this  river — which,  if  there  be  need, 

rjl  try  to  prove. 


LESSON  CXXIV. 

Oreat  Effects  result  from  Little  Causes, — Porter. 

The  same  connexion  betwixt  small  things  and  great,  runs 
through  all  the  concerns  of  our  world.  The  ignorance  of  a 
physician,  or  the  carelessness  of  an  apothecary,  may  spread 
death  through  a  family  or  a  town.  How  often  has  the  sick- 
ness of  one  man,  become  the  sickness  of  thousands  ?  How 
often  has  the  error  of  one  man,  become  the  error  of  thou- 
sands 1 

A  fly  or  an  atom,  may  set  in  motion  a  train  of  intermediate 
causes,  which  shall  produce  a  revolution  in  a  kingdom.  Any 
one  of  a  thousand  incidents,  might  have  cut  off  Alexander  of 
Greece,  in  his  cradle.  But  if  Alexander  had  died  in  infancy, 
or  had  lived  a  single  day  longer  than  he  did,  it  might  have 
put  another  face  on  all  the  following  history  of  the  world. 

A  spectacle-maker's  boy,  amusing  himself  in  his  father's 
shop,  by  holding  two  glasses  between  his  finger  and  his 
thumb,  and  varying  their  distance,  perceived  the  weathercock 
of  the  church  spire,  opposite  to  him,  much  larger  than  ordi- 
nary, and  apparently  much  nearer,  and  turned  upside  down. 
This  excited  the  wonder  of  the  father,  and  led  him  to  addi- 
tional experiments  ;  and_these  resulted  in  that  astonishing 
instrument,  the  Telescope,  as  invented  by  Galileo,  and  per-? 
fected  by  Herschell. 

24 


278  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  125. 

On  the  same  optical  principles  was  constructed  the  Micro- 
scope, by  which  we  perceive  that  a  drop  of  stagnant  water  is 
a  world  teeming  with  inhabitants.  By  one  of  these  instru- 
ments, the  experimental  philosopher  measures  the  ponderous 
globes,  that  the  omnipotent  hand  has  ranged  in  majestick 
order  through  the  skies ;  by  the  other,  he  sees  the  same 
hand  employed  in  rounding  and  polishing  five  thousand  mi- 
nute, transparent  globes  in  the  eye  of  a  fly.  Yet  all  these 
discoveries  of  modern  science,  exhibiting  the  intelligence, 
dominion,  and  agency  of  God,  we  owe  to  the  transient  amuse- 
ment of  a  child. 

It  is  a  fact,  commonly  known,  that,  the  laws  of  gravitation, 
which  guide  the  thousands  of  rolling  worlds  in  the  planetary 
system,  were  suggested  at  first,  to  the  mind  of  Newton,  by 
the  falling  of  an  apple. 

The  art  of  printing,  shows  from  what  casual  incidents,  the 
most  magnificent  events  in  the  scheme  of  Providence  may 
result.  Time  was,  when  princes  were  scarcely  rich  enough 
to  purchase  a  copy  of  the  Bible.  Now  every  cottager  in 
Christendom,  is  rich  enough  to  possess  this  treasure.  "Who 
would  have  thought,  that  the  simple  circumstance  of  a  man, 
amus'ing  himself  by  cutting  a  few  letters  on  the  bark  of  a 
tree,  and  impressing  them  on  paper,  was  intimately  connect- 
ed with  the  mental  illumination  of  the  world  !" 


LESSON  CXXV. 

Dialogue. — Leather  stocking^  s  Description  of  CattskiU  Moun- 
tains,— Cooper. 

Effingham,  How  beautifully  tranquil  and  glassy -the  lake 
is.  Saw  you  it  ever  more  calm  and  even,  than  at  this  moment, 
Natty  ? 

Leather  stocking,  1  have  known  the  Otsego  water  for  five- 
and-fbrty  year,  and  I  will  say  that  for  it,  which  is,  that  a 
cleaner  spring,  or  a  better  fishing,  is  not  to  be  found  in  the 
land.  Yes,  yes — I  had  the  place  to  myself  once  ;  and  a 
cheerfiil  time  I  had  of  it.  The  game  was  as  plenty  as  heart 
could  wish,  and  there  was  none  to  meddle  with  the  ground, 
unless  there  might  have  been  a  hunting  party  of  the  Dela- 
wares  crossing  the  hills,  or,  maybe,  a  rifling  scout  of  them 
thieves,  the  Iroquois.     There  was  one  or  two  Frenchmen 


Lesson  125.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  279 

that  squatted  in  the  flats,  further  west,  and  married  squaws  ; 
and  some  of  the  Scotch-Irishers,  from  the  Cherry  Valley, 
would  come  on  to  the  lake,  and  borrow  my  canoe,  to  take  a 
mess  of  parch,  or  drop  a  line  for  a  salmon-trout ;  but,  in  the 
main,  it  was  a  cheerful  place,  and  I  had  but  little  to  disturb 
me  in  it.     John  would  come,  and  John  knows. 

Mohegan,  The  land  was  owned  by  my  people  :  we  gave 
it  to  my  brother,  in  council — to  the  Fire-Eater ;  and  what 
the  Delawares  give,  lasts  as  long  as  the  waters  run.  Hawk- 
eye  smoked  at  that  council,  for  we  loved  him. 

L.  No,  no,  John,  I  was  no  chief,  seeing  that  I  know'd 
nothing  of  scholarship,  and  had  a  white  skin.  But  it  was  a 
comfortable  hunting-ground  then,  lad,  and  would  have  been 
so  to  this  day,  but  for  the  money  of  Marmaduke  Temple, 
and,  maybe,  the  twisty  ways  of  the  law. 

E.  It  must  have  been  a  sight  of  melancholy  pleasure, 
indeed,  to  have  roamed  over  these  mountains,  and  along  this 
sheet  of  beautiful  water,  without  a  living  soul  to  speak  to,  or 
to  thwart  your  humour. 

L.  Haven't  I  said  it  was  cheerful !  Yes,  yes — when  the 
trees  begun  to  be  kivered  with  the  leaves,  and  the  ice  was 
out  of  the  lake,  it  was  a  second  paradise.  I  have  travelled  the 
woods  for  fifty-three  year,  and  have  made  them  my  home,  for 
more  than  forty,  and  I  can  say  that  I  have  met  but  one  place 
that  was  more  to  my  liking  ;  and  that  was  only  to  eyesight, 
and  not  for  hunting  or  fishing. 

E,     And  where  was  that  ] 

L.  Where  !  why  up  on  the  Cattskills.  I  used  often  to 
go  up  into  the  mountains  after  wolves'  skins,  and  bears ; 
once  they  bought  me  to  get  them  a  stuffed  painter  ;  and  so  I 
often  went.  There's  a  place  in  them  hills  that  I  used  to 
climb  to,  when  I  wanted  to  see  the  carryings  on  of  the  world, 
that  would  well  pay  any  man  for  a  barked  shin  or  a  torn 
moccasin.  You  know  the  Cattskills,  lad,  for  you  must  have 
seen  them  on  your  left,  as  you  followed  the  river  up  from 
York,  looking  as  blue  as  a  piece  of  clear  sky,  and  holding 
the  clouds  on  their  tops,  as  the  smoke  curls  over  the  head  of 
an  Indian  chief  at  a  council  fire.  Well,  there's  the  High- 
peak  and  the  round-top,  which  lay  back,  like  a  father  and 
mother  among  their  children,  seeing  they  are  far  above  all 
the  other  hills.  But  the  place  I  mean,  is  next  to  the  river, 
where  one  of  the  ridges  juts  out  a  little  from  the  rest,  and 
where  the  rocks  fall  for  the  best  part  of  a  thousand  feet,  so 
much  up  and  down,  that  a  man  standing  on  their  edges  is 
fool  enough  to  think  he  can  jump  from  top  to  bottom. 


280  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  125. 

JS,     What  see  you  when  you  get  there  ? 

L.  Creation  !  all  creation,  lad.  I  was  on  that  hill  when 
Vaughan  burnt  'Sopus,  in  the  last  war,  and  I  seen  the  vessels 
come  out  of  the  highlands,  as  plain  as  I  can  see  that  lime- 
scow  rowing  into  the  Susquehanna,  though  one  was  twenty 
times  further  from  me  than  the  other.  The  river  was  in  sight 
for  seventy  miles,  under  my  feet,  looking  like  a  curled  shav- 
ing, though  it  was  eight  long  miles  to  its  banks.  I  saw  the  hills 
in  the  Hampshire  grants,  the  high  land^  of  the  river,  and  all 
that  God  had  done,  or  man  could  do,  as  far  as  eye  could 
reach — you  know  that  the  Indians  named  me  for  my  sight, 
lad — and  from  the  flat  on  the  top  of  that  mountain,  I  have 
often  found  the  place  where  Albany  stands ;  and  as  for 
\Sopus  !  the  day  the  royal  troops  burnt  the  town,  the  smoke 
.seemed  so  nigh,  that  I  thought  I  could  hear  the  screeches  of 
the  women. 

i^.  It  must  have  been  worth  the  toil,  to  met  with  such  a 
glorious  view ! 

L.  If  being  the  best  part  of  a  mile  in  the  air,  and  hav- 
ing men's  farms  and  housen  at  your  feet,  with  rivers  looking 
like  ribands,  and  mountains  bigger  than  the  **  Vision,"  seem- 
ing to  be  haystacks  of  green  grass  under  you,  gives  any 
satisfaction  to  a  man,  I  can  recommend  the  spot.  When  I 
first  come  into  the  woods  to  live,  I  used  to  have  weak  spells, 
and  I  felf  lonesome  ;  and  then  I  would  go  into  the  Cattskills 
and  spend  a  few  days  on  that  hill,  to  look  at  the  ways  of  man  ; 
but  it's  now  many  a  year  since  I  felt  any  such  longings,  and 
I^m  getting  too  old  for  them  rugged  rocks.  But  there's  a 
place,  a  short  two  miles  back  of  that  very  hill,  that  in  late 
times,  I  relished  better  than  the  mountain  ;  for  it  was  more 
kivcred  with  the  trees,  and  more  nateral. 

jE.     And  where  was  that  ? 

L.  Why,  there's  a  fall  in  the  hills,  where  the  water  of 
two  little  ponds  that  lie  near  each  other,  breaks  out  of  their 
bounds,  and  runs  over  the  rocks  into  the  valley.  The  stream 
is,  maybe,  such  a  one  as  would  turn  a  mill,  if  so  useless  a 
thing  was  wanted  in  the  wilderness.  But  the  hand  that  made 
that  *'  Leap,"  never  made  a  mill  !  There  the  water  comes 
crooking  and  winding  among  the  rocks,  first  so  slow,  that  a 
trout  could  swim  in  it,  and  then  starting  and  running  just 
like  any  creature,  that  wanted  to  make  a  far  spring,  till  it 
gets  to  where  the  mountain  divides,  like  the  cleft  hoof  of  a 
deer,  leaving  a  deep  hollow  for  the  brook  to  tumble  into. 
The  first  pitch  is  nigh  two  hun,dred  feet,  and  the  water  looks 


f 


Lesson  125.]  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  281 

like  flakes  of  driven  snow,  before  it  touches  the  bottom ;  and 
there  the  stream  gathers  itself  together  again  for  a  new  start, 
and,  maybe,  flutters  over  fifty  feet  of  flat-rock,  before  it  falls 
for  another  hundred,  when  it  jumps  about  from  shelf  to  shelf, 
first  turning  this  away  and  then  turning  that  away,  striving 
to  get  out  of  the  hollow,  till  it  finally  comes  to  the  plain. 

£].  I  have  never  heard  of  this  spot  before  !  it  is  not  men- 
tioned in  the  books. 

L.  I  never  read  a  book  in  my  life,  and  how  should  a  man 
who  has  lived  in  towns  and  schools,  know  any  thing  about 
the  w^onders  of  the  woods  !  No,  no,  lad  ;  there  has  that 
little  stream  of  water  been  playing  among  them  hills,  since 
He  made  the  world,  and  not  a  dozen  white  men  have  ever 
laid  eyes  on  it.  The  rock  sweeps  like  a  mason's  work,  in  a 
half-round,  on  both  sides  of  the  fall,  and  shelves  over  the 
bottom  for  fifty  feet ;  so  that  when  I've  been  sitting  at  the 
foot  of  the  first  pitch,  and  my  hounds  have  run  into  the  cav- 
erns behind  the  sheet  of  water,  they've  looked  no  bigger 
than  so  many  rabbits.  To  my  judgment,  lad,  it's  the  best 
piece  of  work  that  I've  met  with  in  the  woods ;  and  none 
know  how  often  the  hand  of  God  is  seen  in  a  wilderness,  but 
them  that  rove  it  for  a  man^s  life. 

E,  What  becomes  of  the  water  ?  in  which  direction  does 
it  run  ?     Is  it  a  tributary  of  the  Delaware  ? 

L.     Anan  ! 

E.     Does  the  water  run  into  the  Delaware  1 

L.  No,  no,  it's  a  drop  for  the  old  Hudson  ;  and  a  merry 
time  it  has  till  it  gets  down  off*  the  mountain.  I've  sat  on 
the  shelving  rock  many  a  long  hour,  boy,  and  watched  the 
bubbles  as  they  shot  by  me,  and  thought  how  long  it  would 
be  before  that  very  water,  which  seemed  made  for  the  wilder- 
ness, would  be  under  the  bottom  of  a  vessel,  and  tossing  in 
the  salt  sea.  It  is  a  spot  to  make  a  man  solemnize.  You 
can  see  right  down  into  the  valley  that  lies  to  the  east  of  the 
High-Peak,  where,  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  thousands  of  acres 
of  woods  are  before  your  eyes,  in  the  deep  hollow,  and  along 
the  side  of  the  mountain,  painted  like  ten  thousand  rainbows, 
by  no  hand  of  man,  though  without  the  ordering  of  God's 
providence. 

E.     Why,  you  are  eloquent,  Leatherstocking  ! 

L.     Anan ! 

JEJ.  The  recollection  of  the  sight  has  warmed  your  blood, 
old  man. 

24* 


^82  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  120, 

LESSON    CXXVL 

Morning  Scene  in   Winter, — Cooper. 

Elizabeth  approached  a  window  and  drew  its  curtain^ 
and  throwing  open  its  shutters,  she  endeavoured  to  look 
abroad  on  the  village  and  the  lake.  But  a  thick  covering  of 
frost,  on  the  panes  of  glass,  while  it  admitted  the  light,  hid 
the  view.  She  raised  the  sash,  and  then,  indeed,  a  most 
glorious  scene  met  her  delighted  eye. 

The  lake  had  exchanged  its  covering  of  unspotted  snow, 
for  a  face  of  dark  ice,  tliat  reflected  the  rays  of  the  rising  sun, 
like  a  polished  mirror.  The  houses  were  clothed  in  a  dress 
of  the  same  description,  but  which,  owing  to  its  position, 
shone  like  bright  steel  ;  while  the  enormous  icicles  that  were 
pendent  from  every  roof,  caught  the  brilliant  light,  apparently 
throwing  it  from  one  to  the  other,  as  each  glittered,  on  the 
side  next  to  the  luminary,  with  a  golden  lustre,  that  melted 
away  on  its  opposite,  into  the  dusky  shades  of  a  background. 

But  it  was  the  appearance  of  the  boundless  forests,  that 
covered  the  hills,  as  they  rose,  in  the  distance,  one  over  the 
other,  that  most  attracted  the  gaze  of  Miss  Temple.  The 
huge  branches  of  the  pines  and  hemlocks,  on  the  western 
mountains,  bent  with  the  weight  of  the  ice  that  they  support- 
ed, while  their  summits  rose  above  the  swelling  tops  of  the 
oaks,  beechc*,  and  maples,  like  spires  of  burnished  silver 
issuiniT  from  domes  of  the  same  material.  The  limits  of  the 
view,  in  this  direction,  were  marked  by  an  undulating  outline 
ofbriglit  light,  as  if,  reversing  the  order  of  nature,  number- 
less suns  might  momentarily  be  expected  to  heave  above  the 
western  horizon. 

In  the  foreground  of  the  picture,  along  the  shores  of  the 
lake,  and  near  to  the  village,  each  tree  seemed  studded  with 
diamonds,  that  emitted  their  dancing  rays,  as  the  branches 
waved  gently  under  the  impulse  of  the  wind.  Even  the  sides 
of  the  mountains,  where  the  rays  of  the  sun  could  not  yet 
fall,  were  decorated  with  a  glassy  coat,  that  presented  every 
gradation  of  brilliancy,  from  the  first  touch  of  the  luminary, 
to  the  dark  foliage  of  the  hemlock,  as  it  glistened  through  its 
coat  of  crystal.  In  short,  the  whole  view  was  one  scene  of 
quivering  radiancy,  as  lake,  mountains,  village,  and  woods, 
each  emitted  its  portion  of  light,  tinged  with  its  peculiar  hue, 
and  varied  by  its  position  and  its  magnitude. 


i 


Lesson  127.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  /      283 

LESSON  CXXVII. 

The  Ruins  of  Jamestown, — Wirt. 

[Extracted  from  a  Letter  of  the  British  Spy.] 

I  HAVE  taken  a  pleasant  ride  of  sixty  miles  down  the  river, 
in  order  to  see  the  remains  of  the  first  English  settlement  in 
Virginia.  The  site  is  a  very  handsome  one.  The  river  is 
three  miles  broad ;  and,  on  the  opposite  shore,  the  country  pre- 
sents a  fine  range  of  bold  and  beautiful  hills.  But  I  find  no 
vestiges  of  the  ancient  town,  except  the  ruins  of  a  church 
steeple,  and  a  disordered  group  of  old  tombstones.  On  one 
of  these,  shaded  by  the  boughs  of  a  tree,  whose  trunk  has 
embraced  and  grown  over  the  edge  of  the  stone,  and  seated 
on  the  head-stone  of  another  grave,  I  now  address  you. 

On  one  side,  is  an  inscription  on  a  gravestone,  which  would 
constitute  no  bad  theme  for  an  occasional  meditation  from 
Yorick  himself.  The  stone,  it  seems,  covers  the  grave  of  a 
man  who  was  born  in  the  neighbourhood  of  London  ;  and  his 
epitaph  concludes  the  short  and  rudely  executed  account  of 
his  birth  and  death,  by  declaring  him  to  have  been  *'a  great 
sinner,  in  hopes  of  a  joyful  resurrection  ,"  as  if  he  had  sin- 
ned, with  no  other  intention,  than  to  give  himself  a  fair  title 
to  these  exulting  hopes.  But  awkwardly  and  ludicrously  as 
the  sentiment  is  expressed,  it  is  in  its  meaning,  most  just  and 
beautiful ;  as  it  acknowledges  the  boundless  mercy  of  Hea- 
ven, and  glances  at  that  divinely  consoling  proclamation, 
**  come  unto  me,  all  ye,  who  are  weary  and  heavy  laden,  and 
I  will  give  you  rest." 

The  ruin  of  the  steeple  is  about  thirty  feet  high,  and  man- 
tled, to  its  very  summit,  with  ivy.  It  is  difficult  to  look  at 
this  venerable  object,  surrounded  as  it  is,  with  these  awful 
proofs  of  the  mortality  of  man,  without  exclaiming  in  the 
pathetick  solemnity  of  Shakspeare, 

"  The  cloudcapt  towers,  the  g-org-eoiis  palace^. 
The  solemn  temples,  the  great  globe  itself, 
Yea,  all  which  it  inherit,  shall  dissolve  ; 
And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  wreck  behind." 

Whence  arises  the  irrepressible  reverence,  and  tender  affec- 
tion, with  which  I  look  at  this  broken  steeple  ?  Is  it,  that  my 
soul,  by  a  secret^  subtile  process,  invests  the  mouldering  ruin 


284  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  127. 

with  her  own  powers  ;  imagines  it  a  fellow  being  ;  a  venera- 
ble old  man,  a  Nestor,  or  an  Ossian,  who  has  witnessed  and 
survived  the  ravages  of  successive  generations,  the  companions 
of  his  youth,  and  of  his  maturity,  and  now  mourns  his  own 
solitary  and  desolate  condition,  and  hails  their  spirits  in  every 
passing  cloud  ?  Whatever  may  be  the  cause,  as  I  look  at  it,  I 
{ee\  my  soul  drawn  forward,  as  by  the  cords  of  gentlest  sym- 
pathy, and  involuntarily  open  my  lips  to  offer  consolation  to 
the  drooping  pile. 

Where  is  the  busy  bustling  crowd,  which  landed  here  two 
hundred  years  ago  ?  Where  is  Smith,  that  pink  of  gallantry, 
that  flower  of  chivalry  ?  I  fancy,  that  I  can  see  their  first, 
slow,  and  cautious  approach  to  the  shore  ;  their  keen  and 
vigilant  eyes,  piercing  the  forest  in  every  direction,  to  detect 
the  lurking  Indian,  with  his  tomahawk,  bo'tv  and  arrow. 

Good  Heavens  !  what  an  enterprize  !  how  full  of  the  most 
fearful  perils  !  and  yet  how  entirely  profitless  to  the  daring 
men  who  personally  undertook  and  achieved  it !  Through 
what  a  series  of  the  most  spirit-chilling  hardships,  had  they 
to  toil  !  How  often  did  they  cast  their  eyes  to  England  in 
vain  !  and,  with  what  delusive  hopes,  day  after  day,  did  the 
little,  famished  crew  strain  their  sight  to  catch  the  white  sail 
of  comfort  and  relief!  But  day  after  day,  the  sim  set,  and 
darkness  covered  the  earth  ;  but  no  sail  of  comfort  or  relief 
came. 

How  often,  in  the  pangs  of  hunger,  sickness,  solitude,  and 
disconsolation,  did  they  think  of  London  ;  her  shops,  her 
markets,  groaning  under  the  weight  of  plenty  ;  her  streets, 
swarming  with  gilded  coaches,  bustling  hacks,  with  crowds 
of  lords,  dukes,  and  commons,  with  healthy,  busy  contented 
faces  of  every  description  ;  and,  among  them,  none  more, 
healthy  or  more  contented,  than  those  of  their  ungrateful  and 
improvident  directors  ! 

But  now — where  are  they  all  ?  the  little,  famished  colony 
which  landed  here,  and  the  many  coloured  crowd  of  London, 
where  are  they  gone  ?  where  there  is  no  distinction  ;  con- 
signed to  the  common  earth.  Another  generation  succeeded 
them  ;  which,  just  as  busy  and  as  bustling  as  that  which  fell 
before  it,  has  sunk  down  into  the  same  nothingness.  Anoth- 
er, and  yet  another  billow  has  rolled  on,  each  emulating  its 
predecessor  in  height ;  towering,  for  its  moment,  and  curling 
its  foaming  honours  to  the  clouds ;  then  roaring,  breaking, 
and  perishing  on  the  same  shore. 


{ 


Lesson  128.]    AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  285 

Is  it  not  strange,  that  familiarly  and  universally  as  these 
things  are  known,  yet  each  generation  is  as  eager  in  the  pur- 
suit of  its  earthly  objects,  projects  its  plans  pn  a  scale  as 
extensive,  and  labours  in  their  execution  with  a  spirit  as 
ardent  and  unrelaxing,  as  if  this  life  and  this  world  were  to 
last  for  ever  ?  It  is,  indeed,  a  most  benevolent  interposition 
of  Providence,  that  these  palpable  and  just  views  of  the 
vanity  of  human  life  are  not  permitted  entirely  to  crush  the 
spirits,  and  unnerve  the  arm  of  industry.  But  at  the  same 
time,  methinks,  it  would  be  wise  in  man  to  permit  them  to 
have,  at  least,  so  much  weight  with  him,  as  to  prevent  his 
total  absorption  by  the  things  of  this  earth,  and  to  point  some 
of  his  thoughts  and  his  exertions,  to  a  system  of  being,  far 
more  permanent,  exalted  and  happy.  Think  not  this  reflec- 
tion too  solemn.  It  is  irresistibly  inspired  by  the  objects 
around  me  ;  and,  as  rarely  as  it  occurs,  (much  too  rarely)  it 
is  most  certainly  and  solemnly  true. 

It  is  curious,  to  reflect,  what  a  nation,  in  the  course  of  two 
hundred  years,  has  sprung  up  and  flourished  from  the  feeble, 
sickly  germ  which  was  planted  here  !  Little  did  our  short- 
sighted court  suspect  the  conflict  which  she  was  preparing 
for  herself;  the  convulsive  throe  by  which  her  infant  colony 
would  in  a  few  years  burst  from  her,  and  start  into  a  political 
importance  that  would  astonish  the  earth. 


LESSON  CXXVIII. 

^  Debt  and  Credit, — Trenton  Emporiltm* 

^P  I  DISLIKE  the  whole  matter  of  debt  and  credit — from  my 
K|heart  I  dislike  it ;  and  think  the  man,  who  first  invented  a 
■^ledger,  should  be  hung  in  effigy,  with  his  invention  tied  to 
his  feet,  that  his  neck  might  support  him  and  his  works  to- 
gether. My  reason  for  thus  sweeping  at  the  whole  system  is, 
not  that  I  believe  it  totally  useless,  but  that  I  believe  it  does 
more  mischief  than  good — produces  more  trouble  than  accom- 
modation, and  destroys  more  fortunes  than  it  creates  honest- 
ly. These  opinions  are  not  of  a  recent  date  with  me ;  they 
are  those  upon  which  I  set  out  in  early  life,  and  as  I  grew 
older,  I  became  more  and  more  confirmed  in  them  ;  not  that 
I  changed  my  practice  while  I  held  fast  my  profession,  and  got 
my  fingers  burned  at  last,  by  trusting  my  name  in  a  day- 


288  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  128. 

book,  for  I  never  did  it,  because  I  saw  the  evil  effects  of  credit 
around  me  in  every  shape  and  form. 

And  a  visit  this  morning  to  my  old  friend,  Timothy  Coul- 
ter, called  the  subject  up  so  forcibly,  that  I  concluded  to 
write  you  a  line  on  it.  His  last  cow  was  sold  this  very  morn- 
ing, by  the  constable  for  six  dollars,  though  she  cost  him 
sixteen,  and  they  have  not  left  an  ear  of  corn  in  his  crib,  or 
a  bushel  of  rye  in  his  barn,  much  less  any  of  his  stock — it 
was  what  was  called  the  winding  up  of  the  concern ;  and  he 
is  now  on  his  good  behaviour,  for,  I  heard  one  of  his  credi- 
tors say,  that  if  he  did  not  go  on  very  straight,  that  he  would 
walk  him  off  to  the  county  prison-ship. 

Thus  has  ended  Timothy's  game  of  debt  and  credit. 
When  he  first  commenced  farming,  he  was  as  industrious  and 
promising  a  young  man  as  was  to  be  found ;  he  worked  day 
and  night,  counted  the  cost,  and  pondered  on  the  purchase  of 
every  thing.  For  a  year  or  two,  he  kept  out  of  debt,  lived 
comfortably  and  happy,  and  made  money  ;  every  merchant 
that  knew  him,  was  ready  to  make  a  polite  bow — each  knew 
him  as  one  of  your  cash  men,  and  liked  his  custom.  The 
mechanick  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  begged  his  company 
to  dinner,  hoping  to  get  a  job  from  him ;  and  even  the  law- 
yer, in  contemplation  of  his  high  character,  tipped  his  beaver 
as  he  passed  him,  with  a  sign,  as  much  as  to  say,  Tim,  you 
have  more  sense  than  half  the  world ;  but  that's  no  consola- 
tion to  us. 

By  some  fatality,  Timothy  found  out,  however,  that  there 
was  such  a  thing  as  credit.  He  began  soon  to  have  many 
running  accounts,  and  seldom  paid  for  what  he  got ;  it  soon 
followed,  that  the  inquiry,  '*  do  I  really  want  this  article  V 
before  he  bought  it,  was  neglected  ;  then  the  price  was  fre-^ 
quently  not  asked ;  then  he  began  to  be  careless  about  pay 
day ;  his  accounts  stood — he  disputed  them  when  rendered 
— was  sued — charged  with  costs,  and  perhaps,  slyly,  with 
interest  too,  and  he  became  a  money  borrower  before  long  ; 
but  his  friends,  after  a  lawsuit  had  brought  them  their  money, 
were  ready  to  trust  him  again,  and  he  was  as  ready  to  buy. 
The  same  farce  was  played  over  and  over,  until  now  the  end 
of  these  things  has  come ;  and,  poor  fellow,  he  is  turned  out 
in  the  wide  world,  without  a  friend,  save  a  wife  and  six 
miserable  babes. 

I  asked  the  constable  for  a  sight  of  the  execution,  and  he 
showed  it  to  me.  It  was  issued  by  young  squire  Bell,  and  I 
could  not  but  recollect  how  different  was  the  history  of  this 


y 

i 


Lesson  129.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  287 

man  to  that  of  Timothy.  Young  Bell  was  a  poor  boy  ;  com- 
menced his  life  with  nothing  but  health  and  trade  ;  but  he 
adopted  as  a  sacred  maxim,  **pay  as  you  go  "  and  he  fre- 
quently told  me,  he  found  little  difficulty  in  sticking  to  his 
text.  The  necessaries  of  life  are  few,  and  industry  secures 
them  to  every  man  ;  it  is  the  elegancies  of  life  that  empty  the 
purse ;  the  nick-knacks  of  fashion,  the  gratification  of  pride, 
and  the  indulgence  of  luxury,  that  makes  a  man  poor.  To 
guard  against  these,  some  resolution  is  necessary ;  and  the  reso- 
lution, once  formed,  is  much  strengthened  and  guarded  by  the 
habit  of  paying  for  every  article  we  buy,  at  the  time.  If  we 
do  so,  we  shall  seldom  purchase  what  our  circumstances  will 
not  afford. 

This  was  exactly  the  manner  in  which  Jack  Bell  proceed- 
ed. Habit,  strengthened  by  long  continuance,  and  support- 
ed by  reason,  became  second  nature.  His  business  prosper- 
ed ;  his  old  purse  became  filled  with  Spanish  dollars  ;  all  his 
purchases,  being  made  for  cash,  were  favourable,  and  by 
always  knowing  how  he  stood  with  the  world,  he  avoided  all 
derangement  in  his  affairs.  He  is  now  the  squire  of  a  little 
village,  with  a  good  property,  a  profitable  business,  and  the 
respect  of  all  who  know  him. 

Young  reader,  who  hast  not  entered  on  the  stage  of  busi- 
ness, when  you  come  forward  in  the  world,  go  and  do  like* 
wise,  and  you  shall  have,  like  reward. 


A  LESSON  CXXIX 

^Kjinteresting  Circumstances   relating   to   the  Bible, — Payson. 


In  addition  to  the  intrinsick  excellencies  of  the  Bible, 
which  give  it,  considered  merely  as  a  human  production, 
powerful  claims  to  the  attention  of  persons  of  taste  and  learn- 
ing, there  are  various  circumstances  of  an  adventitious  na- 
ture, which  render  it  peculiarly  interesting  to  a  reflecting 
mind.  Among  these  circumstances,  we  may  perhaps,  not 
improperly,  mention  its  great  antiquity. 

Whatever  may  be  said  of  its  inspiration,  some  of  the  books, 
which  compose  it,  are  unquestionably  the  most  ancient  liter- 
ary compositions  extant,  and  perhaps  the  most  ancient  that 
ever  were   written  ;  nor  is  it  very  improbable,  that  letters 


2SS  CLASS  BOOK.  [Lesson  129. 

were  first  employed  in  recording  some  parts  of  them,  and 
that  they  were  written  in  the  language  first  spoken  by  man. 

It  is  also  not  only  the  most  ancient  book,  but  the  most 
ancient  monument  of  human  exertion,  the  eldest  offspring  of 
human  intellect,  now  in  existence.  Unlike  the  other  works 
of  man,  it  inherits  not  his  frailty.  All  the  contemporaries  of 
its  infancy  have  long  since  perished,  and  are  forgotten  ;  yet 
this  wonderful  volume  still  survives.  Like  the  fabled  pillars 
of  Seth,  which  are  said  to  have  bid  defiance  to  the  deluge,  it 
has  stood  for  ages,  unmoved  in  the  midst  of  that  flood,  which 
sweeps  away  men  with  their  labours  into  oblivion. 

That  these  circumstances  render  it  an  interesting  object 
of  contemplation,  it  is  needless  to  remark.  Were  there  now 
in  existence  a  tree,  which  was  planted  ;  an  edifice,  which 
was  erected  ;  or  any  monument  of  human  ingenuity,  which 
was  formed  at  that  early  period,  in  which  some  parts  of  the 
Bible  were  written  ;  would  it  not  be  contemplated  with  the 
keenest  interest ;  carefully  preserved,  as  a  precious  relick ; 
and  considered,  as  something,  little  less  than  sacred  ? 

With  what  emotions,  then,  will  a  thoughtful  mind  open  the 
Bible  ;  and  what  a  train  of  inteiesting  reflections  is  it,  in  this 
view,  calculated  to  excite  ?  While  we  contemplate  its  anti- 
quity, exceeding  that  of  every  object  around  us,  except  the 
works  of  God  ;  and  view  it  in  anticipation,  as  continued  to 
exist  unaltered  until  the  end  of  time  ;  must  we  not  feel  almost 
irresistibly  impelled  to  venerate  it,  as  proceeding  originally 
from  Him,  who  is  yesterday,  today,  and  forever  the  same  ; 
whose  works,  like  his  years,  fail  not  1 


i 


\ 


Lesson  130.]  OF  AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  289 

LESSON  CXXX. 

To  the  Eagle. — Percival. 

[From  the  Atlantic  Souvenir  for  1827.] 

Bird  of  the  broad  and  sweeping  wing  ! 
Thy  home  is  high  in  heaven, 
Where  wide  the  storms  their  banners  fling, 
And  the  tempest  clouds  are  driven. 
Thy  throne  is  on  the  mountain  top ; 
Thy  fields — the  boundless  air  ; 
And  hoary  peaks,  that  proudly  prop 
The  skies — thy  dwellings  are. 

Thou  sittest  like  a  thing  of  light, 

Amid  the  noontide  blaze  : 

The  midway  sun  is  clear  and  bright— «- 

It  cannot  dim  thy  gaze. 

Thy  pinions,  to  the  rushing  blast 

O'er  the  bursting  billow  spread, 

Where  the  vessel  plunges,  hurry  past, 

Like  an  angel  of  the  dead. 

Thou  art  perched  aloft  on  the  beetling  crag. 

And  the  waves  are  white  below, 

And  on,  with  a  haste  that  cannot  lag, 

They  rush  in  an  endless  flow. 

Again,  thou  hast  plumed  thy  wing  for  flight 

To  lands  beyond  the  sea. 

And  away,  like  a  spirit  wreathed  in  light. 

Thou  hurriest  wild  and  free. 

Thou  hurriest  over  the  myriad  waves, 
And  thou  leavest  them  all  behind ; 
Thou  sweepest  that  place  of  unknown  graves, 
Fleet  as  the  tempest  wind. 
When  the  night  storm  gathers  dim  and  dark; 
With  a  shrill  and  boding  scream, 
Thou  rushest  by  the  foundering  bark, 
Quick  as  a  passing  dream. 
25 


:iOO  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  130. 

Lord  of  the  boundless  realm  of  air  ! 

In  thy  imperial  name, 

The  hearts  of  the  bold  and  ardent  dare, 

The  dangerous  path  of  fame. 

Beneath  the  shade  of  thy  golden  wings, 

The  Roman  legions  bore, 

From  the  river  of  Egypt's  cloudy  springs, 

Their  pride,  to  the  polar  shore. 

For  thee  they  fought,  for  thee  they  fell, 

And  their  oath  was  on  thee  laid  ; 

To  thee  the  clarions  raised  their  swell. 

And  the  dying  warriour  prayed. 

Thou  wert,  through  an  age  of  death  and  fears, 

The  image  of  pride  and  power, 

Till  the  gathered  rage  of  a  thousand  years 

Burst  forth  in  one  awful  hour. 

And  then,  a  deluge  of  wrath  it  came. 

And  the  nations  shook  with  dread  ; 

And  it  swept  the  earth  till  its  fields  were  flame 

And  piled  with  the  mingled  dead. 

Kings  were  rolled  in  the  wasteful  flood, 

With  the  low  and  crouching  slave  ; 

And  together  lay,  in  a  shroud  of  blood, 

The  coward  and  the  brave. 

And  where  was  then  thy  fearless  flight  ? 

"  O'er  the  dark  mysterious  sea. 

To  the  lands  that  caught  the  setting  light, 

The  cradle  of  Liberty. 

There,  on  the  silent  and  lonely  shore, 

For  ages,  I  watched  alone, 

And  the  world,  in  its  darkness,  asked  no  more, 

Where  the  glorious  bird  had  flown. 

But  then  came  a  bold  and  hardy  few, 
And  they  breasted  the  unknown  wave  ; 
1  caught  afar  the  wandering  crew  ; 
And  I  knew  they  were  high  and  brave 
I  wheeled  around  the  welcome  bark. 
As  it  sought  the  desolate  shore  ; 
And  up  to  heaven,  like  a  joyous  lark. 
My  quivering  pinions  bore. 


{ 


Lesson  131.]      AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  291 

And  now  that  bold  and  hardy  few 

Are  a  nation  wide  and  strong, 

And  danger  and  doubt  I  have  led  them  through, 

And  they  worship  me  in  song  ; 

And  over  their  bright  and  glancing  arms 

On  field  and  lake  and  sea, 

With  an  eye  that  fires,  and  a  spell  that  charms, 

i  guide  them  to  victory." 


LESSON  CXXXI. 

Appearance  of  the  Students  at  Gbttingen. — U.  S.  Review. 

[From  a  Letter  of  an  American  in  Europe.] 

The  morning  after  I  arrived  in  Gottingen,  I  went  out  at 
an  early  hour,  full  of  transatlantick  respect  for  European 
literature,  and  by  a  natural  association,  for  European  univer- 
sities, both  professors  and  students.  My  head  was  busy  in 
figuring  forth  scholastick  forms,  with  eyes  fixed  in  medita- 
tion, brows  furrowed  by  thouglit, 


"  With  sable  stole 

Over  their  decent  shoulders  drawn." 

This  was  v;hat  I  expected  to  see  ;  now  I  mil  tell  you  what 
1  saw. 

I  met  crowds  of  coarse  young  men,  with  a  swaggering  air, 
mostly  dressed  in  frock  coats  of  brown  blanketing,  such  as 
our  sailors'  dreadnoughts  are  made  of.  They  wore  low 
round  caps  of  all  hues,  although  green  was  on  the  whole  pre- 
dominant. Nor  was  it,  I  ween,  in  the  Palais  Royal,  nor  yet 
in  Bond  Street,  that  they  had  learned  the  art  of  enveloping 
the  neck.  Some  wore  handkerchiefs  of  every  variety  of 
stripe  and  fabrick ;  others  a  woollen  tippet,  which  was  some- 
times blue,  sometimes  red,  and  sometimes  of  no  colour  at  alj, 
I  have  even  heard  it  asserted,  that  under  cover  of  the  closelv 
buttoned  frock,  this  last  article  frequently  served  in  lieu  both 
of  vest  and  cravat,  but  for  the  correctness  of  this  I  cannot 
vouch  from  personal  inspection.  Others,  more  whimsical  or 
more  independent,  left  the  neck  entirely  bare. 

Some  clattered  along  the  publick  ways  in  spurs  ;  these,  I 
concluded,  were  newly  dismounted  ;  but  I  soon  found  my 
mistake,  it  was  not  uncommon  for  one  to  wear  them  who 


292  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  lOa 

had  not  been  on  horseback  for  months.  Some  wore  their 
hair  of  great  length  ;  a  few  even  allowed  it  to  fall  on  their 
shoulders.  Some  increased  the  natural  fierceness  of  their 
countenance  by  mustachios  ;  and  many,  who,  perhaps  were 
not  sufficiently  confident  of  their  own  power  to  strike  ter- 
rour,  were  accompanied  by  dogs.  Even  these  poor  beasts, 
were  compelled  to  appear  in  costume  ;  for,  if  nature  had 
given  them  shaggy  hair,  they  were  shorn  of  all  but  what 
hung  upon  the  shoulders  and  fore  paws,  to  give  them  the  re- 
semblance of  a  lion.  Thus  equipped,  and  with  note-books 
under  their  arms,  moving  at  all  places,  and  in  all  directions, 
these  personages  were  students  at  tbe  far-famed  University 
of  Georgia  Augusta. 


LESSON  cxxxn. 

Bxtract  from  the  Story  $f  the  Wliite  Indian, — Pauldinc. 

[From  the  Atlantic  Souvenir,  for  1827.] 

By  degrees,  as  custom  reconciled  me  more  and  more  to 
fasting  and  long  rambles,  I  extended  my  excursions  farther 
from  home,  and  sometimes  remained  out  all  day,  without 
tasting  food,  or  resting  myself,  except  for  a  few  minutes  upon 
the  trunk  of  some  decayed  old  tree  or  moss-covered  rock. 
The  country,  though  in  a  great  degree  in  its  native  state  of 
wildness,  was  full  of  romantick  beauties.  The  Mohawk,  is 
one  of  the  most  charming  of  rivers,  sometimes  brawling 
aaiong  ragged  rocks,  or  darting  swiftly  through  long  narrow 
reaches,  and  here  and  there,  as  at  tlie  Little  Falls,  and  again 
at  the  Cohocs,  darting  down  high  perpendicular  rocks  in 
sheets  of  milk  white  foam,  but  its  general  character  is  that  ol 
repose  and  quiet. 

It  is  no  where  so  broad  but  that  rural  objects  and  rural 
sounds  may  be  seen  and  h(^ard  distinctly  from  one  side  to 
the  other  ;  and,  in  many  places,  the  banks  on  either  hand, 
are  composed  of  rich  meadows  or  flats,  as  they  were  denom- 
inated by  the  early  Dutch  settlers,  so  nearly  on  a  level  with 
the  surface  of  the  water,  as  to  be  almost  identified  with  it  at 
a  distance,  were  it  not  for  the  rich  fringe  of  water  willows 
that  skirt  it  on  either  side  and  mark  the  lines  of  separation. 

In  these  rich  pastures,  may  now  be  seen  the  lowing  herds 
half  hidden  in  the  luxuriant  ffrass,  and  a  littlq  farther  on,  out 


Lesson  132.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  293- 

of  the  reach  of  the"  spring  freshes,  the  comfortable  farm 
liouses  of  many  a  sanguine  country  squire,  who  dreams  of 
boundless  wealth  from  the  Grand  Canal,  and  in  his  admira- 
tion of  the  works  of  man,  forgets  the  far  greater  beauty, 
grandeur,  and  utility  of  the  works  of  his  Maker.  But  I  am 
to  describe  the  scenery  as  it  was  in  the  days  of  my  boyhood, 
when,  like  Nimrod,  I  was  a  mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord. 

At  the  time  I  speak  of,  all  that  was  to  be  seen  was  of  the 
handy  work  of  nature,  except  the  little  settlement,  over  which 
presided  the  patriarch  Veeder.  We  were  the  advance  guard 
of  civilization,  and  a  few  steps  beyond  us  was  the  region  of 
])rimeval  forests,  composed  of  elms  and  maples,  and  oaks  and 
pines,  that  seemed  as  if  their  seeds  had  been  sown  at  the 
time  of  the  deluge,  and  that  they  had  been  growing  ever 
since.  I  have  still  a  distinct  recollection,  I  might  almost 
say  perception,  of  the  gloom  and  damps  which  pervaded  these 
chilling  shades,  where  the  summer  sun  never  penetrated,  and 
in  whose  recesses  the  very  light  was  of  a  greenish  hue. 

Here,  especially,  along  the  little  streams,  many  of  which  are 
now  dried  up  by  the  opening  of  the  earth  to  the  sunbeams, 
every  rock  and  piece  of  mouldering  wood  was  wrapped  in  a 
carpet  of  green  moss  fostered  into  more  than  velvet  luxuriance 
by  the  everlasting  damps,  that,  unlike  the  dews  of  heaven, 
fell  all  the  day  as  well  as  all  the  night.  Here  and  there  a 
flower  reared  its  pale  head  among  the  rankness  of  the  sunless 
vegetation  of  unsightly  fungus,  but  it  was  without  fragrance, 
and  almost  without  life,  for  it  v/ithered  as  soon  as  plucked 
from  its  stem. 

I  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  heard  a  singing  bird  in 
these  forests,  except  just  on  the  outer  skirts,  fronting  the 
isouth,  where  occasionally  a  robin  chirped  or  a  thrush  sung 
his  evening  chaunt.  These  tiny  choristers  seem  almost  act- 
uated by  the  vanity  of  human  beings,  for  I  have  observed 
they  appear  to  take  peculiar  delight  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
the  habitations  of  men,  where  they  have  listeners  to  their 
musick.  They  do  not  love  to  sing  where  there  is  no  one 
to  hear  them. 

The  very  insects  of  the  wing  seemed  also  to  have  abandon- 
ed the  gloomy  solitude,  to  sport  in  the  sunshine  among  the 
flowers.  Neither  butterfly  nor  grasshopper  abided  there, 
and  the  honey-bee  never  came  to  equip  himself  in  his  yellow 
breeches.  He  is  the  companion  of  the  white  man,  and  seems 
content  to  be  his  slave,  to  toil  for  him  all  the  summer,  only 
that  he  may  be  allowed  the  enjoyment  of  the  refuse  of  his  own 
•25* 


^9^4  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  im. 

labours  in  the  winter.  To  plunge  into  the  recesses  of  these 
woods  was  like  descending  into  a  cave  under  ground,  there 
was  the  coolness,  the  dampnejss,  and  the  obscurity  of  twilight. 
Yet  custom  made  me  love  these  solitudes,  and  many  are  the 
days  I  have  spent  among  them,  with  my  dog  and  gun,  and 
no  other  guide  but  the  sun  in  heaven  and  tlie  moss  on  the 
north  side  of  the  trees. 


LESSON  CXXXIIL 
Hagar  in  the  Wilderness, — Anonymous. 

[From  *'  The  Memorial."] 

The  morning  past — and  Asia's  sun  rode  up 
In  the  clear  Heaven,  and  every  beam  was  heat. 
The  cattle  of  the  hills  were  in  the  shade — 
And  the  bright  plumage  of  the  Orient  lay 
On  beating  bosoms  in  her  spicy  trees. 

It  was  an  hour  of  rest, — but  Hagar  found 
Jfo  shelter  in  the  wilderness,  and  on 
She  kept  her  weary  way  until  the  boy 
Hung  down  his  head,  and  opened  his  parched  lips 
For  water — but  she  could  not  give  it  liim. 

She  laid  him  down  beneath  the  sultry  sky 
For  it  was  better  than  the  close  hot  breath 
Of  the  thick  pines,  and  tried  to  comfort  him. 
But  he  was  sore  athirst,  and  his  blue  eyes 
Were  dim  and  bloodshot,  and  he  could  not  know 
AVhy  God  denied  him  water  in  the  wild. 

She  sat  a  little  longer,  and  he  grew 
Ghastly  and  faint  as  if  he  would  have  died. 
It  was  too  much  for  her.     She  lifted  him 
And  bore  him  farther  on,  and  laid  his  head 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  a  desert  shrub. 
And  shrouding  up  her  face,  she  went  away 
And  sat  to  watch,  where  he  could  see  her  not, 
Till  he  should  die, — and  watching  him  she  monrned- 

God  stay  thee  in  thine  agony,  my  boy  ' 
I  cannot  see  thee  die,  I  cannot  ])rnfok 
Upon  thy  brow  to  look. 


Lesson  134.]     AIVIERICAN  LITERATURE.  295 

And  see  death  settle  on  my  cradle  joy — 
How  have  I  drank  the  light  of  thy  blue  eye  ' 
And  could  I  see  thee  die  ? 

I  did  not  dream  of  this  when  thou  wast  straying 
Like  an  unbound  gazelle  among  the  flowers, — 

Or  wearing  rosy  hours 
By  the  rich  gush  of  water  sources  straying, 
Then  sinking  weary  to  thy  smiling  sleep, 

So  beautiful,  and  deep. 

Oh,  no  ;   and  when  I  watched  by  thee,  the  while 
And  saw  thy  bright  lip  curling  in  thy  dream, 

And  thought  of  the  dark  stream 
In  my  own  land  of  Egypt,  the  deep  Nile- 
How  prayed  I  that  thy  father's  land  might  be 

A  heritage  for  thee. 

And  now  the  grave  for  its  cold  breast  hath  won  thee.,- 
And  thy  white,  delicate  limbs  the  earth  will  press — 

And  oh,  my  last  caress 
Must  feel  thee  cold,  for  a  chill  hand  is  on  thee — 
How  can  I  leave  my  boy,  so  pillowed  there 

Upon  his  clustering  hair  ? 


She  stood  beside  the  w^ell  her  God  had  given 
To  gush  in  that  deep  wilderness  and  bathed 
The  forehead  of  her  child,  until  he  laughed 
In  his  reviving  happiness,  and  lisped 
His  infant  thoughts  of  gladness  at  the  sight 
Of  the  cool  plashing  of  his  mother's  hand. 


LESSON  CXXXIV. 

Description  of  Nahant, — Tudor. 

There  is  a  remarkable  promontory,  called,  in  old  maps, 
the  Great  NaJiant,  nine  miles  from  Boston  by  water,  and 
fifteen  by  land.  A  peninsula  of  very  irregular  outline  and 
surface,  five  or  six  miles  in  circumference,  is  united  by  a  beach 
of  a  mile  and  a  quarter  long  to  the  coast,  from  which  it  pr6- 


296  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  134. 

jects  so  as  to  form  a  right  angle  with  it.  The  upper  part  of 
this  beach  is  composed  of  loose  sand  and  stones  ;  where  the 
water  flows,  it  is  quite  compact,  and  at  low  tide  a  dozen  car- 
riages may  pass  abreast  on  the  sand,  which  appears  smooth  as 
a  mirrour,  and  so  hard,  that  the  horse's  hoof  scarcely  leaves 
a  mark. 

There  is  also  another  beach  of  the  same  description,  about 
one-third  the  length  of  the  first ;  nothing  can  be  finer  than  a 
ride  over  these  smooth,  hard  courses,  while  the  surf  is  roll- 
ing up  and  bursting  in  foam  alongside,  that  runs  and 
recedes  under  the  horse's  feet,  as  if  in  sport.  The  coast  of 
this  peninsula  is  defended  from  the  fury  of  the  sea,  by  masses 
of  ragged  precipitous  rocks,  which  at  the  southern  extrem- 
ities overhang  it  at  the  height  of  more  than  a  hundred  feet. 

On  the  whole  coast  of  the  United  States,  at  least  from 
Portland  to  the  southern  side  of  the  Mexican  Gulf,  there  is 
not  such  a  promontory  as  this.  It  presents  some  of  the  finest 
marine  views  that  can  be  seen.  One  of  its  accompaniments, 
a  league  distant,  is  called  Egg-rock,  from  being  the  home  of 
vast  numbers  of  birds,  who  make  their  nests  upon  it;  its 
fchape  and  colours  are  highly  picturesque. 

Nahant  commands  a  prospect  over  a  large  part  of  the  bay 
of  Massachusetts,  with  the  finest  portion  of  its  shores ;  it 
approaches  so  near  to  the  lower  harbour  of  Boston,  as  almost 
to  form  one  of  its  defences ;  overseeing  all  its  islands  and 
channels  ;  the  forts,  with  the  town  itself,  rising  in  the  back 
ground. 

The  sea  view  here  is  always  interesting  ;  the  materials  for 
a  picture  abundant :  in  the  first  place,  the  ocean,  whose  in- 
cessant movement  and  boundless  expanse  always  engage  the 
mind  in  reveries  ;  the  extensive  shores,  various  in  their  ap- 
pearance, and  spotted  over  with  towns,  villages,  and  groves ; 
the  islands  and  the  disastrous  rocks,  of  which  there  are 
several  to  excite  the  dread  of  mariners ;  the  light-houses, 
which  always  raise  agreeable  associations  in  the  mind,  being 
one  of  the  few  objects  that  are  erected,  in  a  spirit  of  univer- 
sal comity,  for  the  common  good  of  all  mankind  ;  and,  lastly, 
a  gay  animation  is  thrown  over  the  whole,  by  the  scene  being 
interspersed  with  numerous  vessels  of  all  kinds,  which  lead 
the  spectator,  who  overlooks  the  entrance  of  a  great  com- 
mercial mart,  to  sympatliize  in  imagination  with  some  of  the 
liveliest  joys  and  regrets  of  the  human  mind, — the  sen- 
sations that  are  passing  in  the  bosoms  of  those  before  him, 
in  *'  the  outward  and  the  homeward  bound," — ^the  grief  of 
departure,  the  exultation  of  return. 


Lesson  135.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  297 

LESSON  CXXXV. 

JTo  the  Autumn  Leaf, — Anonymous. 

[From  *'  The  Memorial."] 

Lone  trembling  one  ! 
Last  of  a  summer  race,  withered  and  sear, 
And  shivering — wherefore  art  thou  lingering  here  ? 

Thy  work  is  done. 

Thou  hast  seen  all 
The  summer  flowers  reposing  in  their  tomb, 
And  the  green  leaves,  that  knew  thee  in  their  blooni, 

Wither  and  fall ! 

Why  didst  thou  cling 
So  fondly  to  the  rough  and  sapless  trfee  1 
Hath  then  existence  aught  like  charms  for  thee^ 

Thou  faded  thing ! 

The  voice  of  Spring, 
Which  woke  thee  into  being,  ne'er  again 
Will  greet  thee — nor  the  gentle  summer's  rain 

New  verdure  bring. 

The  zephyr's  breath, 
No  more  will  wake  for  thee  its  melody — 
But  the  lone  sighing  of  the  blast  shall  be 

Thy  hymn  of  death. 

Yet  a  few  days, 
A  few  faint  struggles  with  the  autumn  storm, 
And  the  strained  eye  to  catch  thy  trembling  form^ 

In  vain  may  gaze. 

Pale  autumn  leaf! 
Thou  art  an  emblem  of  mortality, 
The  broken  heart  once  young  and  fresh  like  thee, 

Withered  by  grief, — 

Whose  hopes  are  fled, 
Whose  loved  ones,  all  have  drooped  and  died  away 
Still  clings  to  life — and  lingering  loves  to  stay, 

Above  the  dead  ! 


298  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  186. 

But  list — e'en  now, 
I  hear  the  gathering  of  the  autumn  blast. 
It  comes — thy  frail  form  trembles — it  is  past ! 

And  thou  art  low  ! 


LESSON  CXXXVL 
Description  of  a  Herd  of  Wild  Horses, — Flint. 

The  day  before  we  came  in  view  of  the  Rocky  moun- 
tains, I  saw  in  the  greatest  perfection  that  impressive,  and, 
to  rac,  almost  sublime  spectacle,  an  immense  drove  of  wild 
horses,  for  a  long  time  hovering  round  our  path  across  the 
prairie.  I  had  often  seen  great  numbers  of  them  before, 
mixed  with  other  animals,  apparently  quiet,  and  grazing  like 
the  rest.  Here  there  were  thousands  unmixed,  unemployed  ; 
their  motions,  if  such  a  comparison  might  be  allowed,  as 
darting  and  as  wild  as  those  of  humming-birds  on  the  flow- 
ers. 

The  tremendous  snorts  with  which  the  front  columns  of  the 
phalanx  made  known  their  approach  to  us,  seemed  to  be  their 
wild  and  energetick  way  of  expressing  their  pity  and  disdain  for 
the  servile  lot  of  our  horses,  of  which  they  appeared  to  be- tak- 
ing a  survey.  They  were  of  all  colours,  mixed,  spotted,  and 
diversified  with  every  hue,  from  the  brightest  white  to  clear 
and  shining  black ;  and  of  every  form  and  structure,  from 
the  long  and  slender  racer,  to  those  of  firmer  limbs  and 
heavier  mould  ;  and  of  all  ages,  from  the  curvetting  colt  to 
the  range  of  patriarchal  steeds,  drawn  up  in  a  line,  and  hold- 
ing their  high  heads  for  a  survey  of  us,  in  the  rear. 

Sometimes  they  curved  their  necks,  and  made  no  more 
progress  than  just  enough  to  keep  pace  with  our  advance. 
Then  there  was  a  kind  of  slow  and  walking  minuet,  in  which 
they  performed  various  evolutions  with  the  precision  of  the 
figures  of  a  country  dance.  Then  a  rapid  movement  shifted 
the  front  to  the  rear.  But  still,  in  all  their  evolutions  and 
movements,  like  the  flight  of  sea- fowl,  their  lines  were  regu- 
lar, and  free  from  all  indications  of  confusion. 

At  times  a  spontaneous  and  sudden  movement  towards  us, 
almost  inspired  the  apprehension  of  an  united  attack  upon 
us.  After  a  moment's  advance,  a  snort  and  a  rapid  retro- 
grade movement  seemed  to   testily  their  proud  estimate  qf 


\ 


Lesson  137.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  299 

their  wild  independence.  The  infinite  variety  of  their  rapid 
movements,  their  tamperings,  and  manceuvres  were  of  such  a 
wild  and  almost  terrifick  character,  that  it  required  but  a 
moderate  stretch  of  fancy  to  suppose  them  the  genii  of  these 
grassy  plains. 

At  one  period  they  were  formed  for  an  immense  depth  in 
front  of  us.  A  wheel,  executed  almost  with  the  rapidity  of 
thought,  presented  them  hovering  on  our  flanks.  Then, 
again,  the  cloud  of  dust  tliat  enveloped  their  movements, 
cleared  away,  and  presented  them  in  our  rear.  They  evi-  > 
dently  operated  as  a  great  annoyance  to  the  horses  and  mules 
of  our  cavalcade.  The  frighted  movements,  the  increased 
indications  of  fatigue,  sufficiently  evidenced,  with  their  fre- 
quent neighings,  what  unpleasant  neighbours  they  considered 
their  wild  compatriots  to  be. 

So  much  did  our  horses  appear  to  suffer  from  fatigue  and 
terrour,  in  consequence  of  their  vicinity,  that  Ave  were  think- 
ing of  some  way  in  which  to  drive  them  off;  when  on  a. 
sudden  a  patient  and  laborious  donkey  of  the  establishment, 
who  appeared  to  have  regarded  all  their  movements  with  phi- 
losophick  indifference,  pricked  up  his  long  ears,  and  gave  a 
1  oud  and  most  sonorous  bray  from  his  vocal  shells.  Instantly 
this  prodigious  multitude,  and  there  were  thousands  of  them, 
took  what  the  Spanish  call  the  '*  stompado."  With  a  tramp- 
ling like  the  noise  of  thunder,  or  still  more  like  that  of  an 
earthquake,  a  noise  that  was  absolutely  appalling,  they  took 
to  their  heels,  and  were  all  in  a  few  moments  invisible  in  the 
verdant  depths  of  the  plains,  and  we  saw  them  no  more. 


|.  LESSON  CXXXVII. 

Spring, — PAULDir^G. 

Now  the  laughing,  jolly  spring  began  sometimes  to  show 
her  buxom  face  in  the  bright  morning ;  but  ever  and  anon, 
meeting  the  angry  frown  of  winter,  loath  to  resign  his  rough 
sway  over  the  wide  realm  of  nature,  she  would  retire  again 
into  her  southern  bower.  Yet,  though  her  visits  were  at  first 
but  short,  her  very  look  seemed  to  exercise ,  a  magick  in- 
fluence. 

The  buds  began  slowly  to  expand  their  close  winter  folds  ; 
the  dark  and  melancholy  woods  to  assume  an  almost  imper- 


yOO  CLASS   BOOK  OF  [Lesson  138. 

ceptible  purple  tint ;  and  here  and  there  a  little  chirping  blue 
bird  hopped  about  the  orchards  of  Elsingburgh.  Strips  of 
fresh  green  appeared  along  the  brooks,  now  released  from 
their  icy  fetters  ;  and  nests  of  little  variegated  flowers,  name- 
less, yet  richly  deserving  a  name,  sprung  up  in  the  sheltered 
recesses  of  the  leafless  woods. 

By  and  by,  the  shad,  the  harbinger  at  once  of  spring  and 
plenty,  came  up  the  river  before  the  mild  southern  breeze  ;  the 
ruddy  blossoms  of  the  peach-tree  exhibited  their  gorgeous 
pageantry  ;  the  little  lambs  appeared  frisking  and  gambolling 
about  the  sedate  mother  ;  young,  innocent  calves  began  their 
first  bleatings  ;  the  cackling  hen  announced  her  daily  feat,  in 
the  barnyard,  with  clamorous  astonishment ;  every  day  added 
to  the  appearance  of  that  active  vegetable  and  animal  life, 
which  nature  presents  in  the  progress  of  the  genial  spring ; 
and,  finally,  the  flowers,  the  zephyrs,  the  warblers,  and  the 
maidens'  rosy  cheeks,  announced  to  the  senses,  the  fancy,  and 
the  heart,  the  return,  and  the  stay  of  the  vernal  year. 


LESSON  CXXXVIIL 
.4  Visit  to  Wordsworth. — Griscom. 

Ambleside  is  a  small  market-town,  or  large  village,  on  the 
sides  of  a  mountain,  where  the  valley  opens  to  the  head  of 
Windermere.  It  is  an  ancient  place,  and  has  very  little  of 
modern  comforrt  in  its  general  appearance  ;  but  some  of  the 
houses  being  covered  with  white  cement,  and  several  of 
them  neatly  enclosed,  there  is  in  its  whole  aspect,  viewed  at 
a  little  distance,  a  rural  sweetness  not  often  excelled.  It 
contains  one  or  two  good  inns. 

After  breakfasting  at  one  of  them,  I  hastened  to  Rydal 
Mount,  the  residence  of  W.  Wordsworth,  the  lyrick  poet, 
about  two  miles  from  Ambleside.  The  mansion  is  neat,  but 
altogether  unostentatious,  and  not  irery  large.  Its  position 
is  one  of  the  most  charming  ;  at  a  short  distance  from  the 
head  of  Windermere,  overlooking  the  lake,  the  village  of 
Ambleside,  and  the  wild  undulations  which  spread  them- 
selves on  each  side  of  this  beautiful  water.  Behind,  and  on 
each  side,  rocks  and  hills  are  piled  irregularly,  and  streams 
of  water,  tumbling  over  precipitous  channels,  give  an  air  of 


i 


Lesson  138.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  301 

enchantment  to  the  scenes  which  this  poetick  describer  of 
physical  and  moral  nature  has  chosen  for  his  residence. 

On  reaching  the  house,  the  servant  girl  informed  me  he 
had  gone  out  on  a  walk  with  his  family,  and  would  soon  re- 
turn ;  but  wishing  to  reach  a  distant  place  before  night,  I 
gave  my  letter  of  introduction  to  the  maid,  and  requested  her 
to  go  after,  and  present  it  to  her  master.  He  soon  entered, 
and  calling  me  by  name,  received  me  with  as  much  affability 
and  kindness,  as  if  I  had  been  an  old  acquaintance. 

His  wife,  too,  who  soon  came  in,  manifested  the  same  un- 
ceremonious hospitality  ;  and,  notwithstanding  my  recent 
meal,  insisted  on  spreading  the  table,  and  giving  me  a  cold 
cut  before  I  left  them. 

Wordsworth  is,  I  should  judge,  about  fifty,  or  fifty-five,  of 
rather  a  grave  aspect,  strong  features,  and  easily  susceptible 
of  kindling  into  an  expression  of  benevolence.  He  entered, 
without  hesitation,  into  a  conversation  on  America,  on  our 
literature  and  politicks  ;  on  poetry,  and  various  other  topicks 
which  incidently  presented  themselves.  Finding  that  my 
time  was  short,  he  proposed  a  walk,  and  conducted  me  over 
the  grounds  to  a  situation  which  commanded  a  view  of 
Windermere  and  Rydal  waters,  and  thence  to  a  romantick 
bridge,  on  a  stream  which  falls,  in  a  fine  little  cascade, 
among  the  rocks,  in  front  of  which  is  an  arbour  bearing  the 
date  of  1617,  and  still  in  good  repair. 

It  is  a  spot,  to  which  even  a  Milton  might  have  fitly  re- 
sorted, to  wait  for  the  most  lofty  inspiration  of  his  muse,  had 
he   been   blessed  with  a  temporary  enjoyment  of  external 
vision,  and  anxious  to  derive   from  the  objects  around  him, 
impressions,   the  most  appropriate  to  the  solemnity  of  his 
W  theme.     W^e  stopped  to  look  at  a  cottage,  belonging  to  S. 
^MT********,  of  St.  Peter's  College,  Cambridge,  to  whom  I 
^Blm  indebted  for  my  introduction  to  Wordsworth.     It  is  on  a 
^^rustick  mound,  commanding  a  view  of  both   the  lakes.     A 
^  part  of  the  oaken  furniture  of  this  cottage,  curiously  and 
grotesquely   carved,  appears  as  if  it  might  be  at  least  coeval 
with  the  arbour  just  mentioned,  and   have  owed  its  origin  to 
the  taste  of  the  same  individual. 

On  taking  leave  of  the  interesting  scenery  and  family  of 
Rydal  Mount,  where  I  spent  a  truly  delightful  hour,  Words- 
worth kindly  offered  to  walk  with  me  to  Ambleside.  His  con- 
versation is  replete  with  sound  remark  and  didactick  wisdom. 
Its  most  peculiar  trait,  is  a  sort  of  epick  measure,  which  I 
could  readily  imagine  was  derived  from  those  habits  of 
26 


ii02  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  138. 

thought,  which  are  requisite  to  the  plotting  and  framing  of  a 
long  poem  in  bhmk  verse. 

Whatever  reviewers  may  say,  or  have  said  of  this  writer, 
there  has  ever,  to  me,  been  a  charm,  both  in  his  subject  and 
manner ;  and,  ahhough  he  sometimes  condescends  to  play 
too  long  with  the  baby-tools  of  his  art,  it  is  obvious  that  his 
mind  is  adequate  to  the  most  correct  and  elevated  concep- 
tions of  human  passion.  If  there  is  less  of  *'  fine  frenzy"  in 
his  thoughts  and  descriptions,  than  in  those  of  some  of  his 
cotemporaries,  there  is  enough  of  the  sublime  and  the  tender, 
the  pathetick  and  the  moral,  of  the  power  of  imagination  and 
the  force  of  language,  to  establish  his  claim  to  the  merit  of 
genuine  poetry  ;  and  while  the  scope  of  his  writings  remains 
true  to  the  best  principles  of  humanity,  he  can  scarcely  fail, 
I  think,  to  have  an  admirer  in  every  reader  of  taste  and 
feeling. 

He  expressed  regret  that  the  society  of  Friends  were  so 
generally  inclined,  as  they  are  in  England,  to  resort  to  cities 
and  engage  in  trade  ;  for  he  thinks  their  doctrines  and  man- 
ners are  much  more  congenial  witli  the  simplicity  of  rural 
occupations  ;  and  that  in  a  country  life,  there  is  much  less 
danger  of  their  being  betrayed  into  a  dereliction  of  princi- 
ple, than  in  the  contests  and.  competitions  of  mercantile 
pursuits. 

In  common  with  most  of  the  philanthropists  I  have  fallen 
in  with,  he  is  anxious  that  our  government  should  pursue  a 
course  that  will  give  permanency  to  the  institutions  on  which 
it  is  founded  ;  but  he  entertains  apprehensions  of  its  stability, 
in  a  great  measure,  from  the  presumption,  that  men,  who, 
under  the  garb  of  patriotism,  have  performed  acts  of  service 
to  the  country,  and  conciliated  the  feelings  of  the  nation,  will, 
from  the  thirst  of  ambition  and  the  pride  of  power,  strike  at 
the  root  of  liberty,  and  introduce  disorder  and  confusion. 

The  little  stories  of  Barbara  Lethwaite  and  Harry  Gill, — 
Wordswortli  informed  me,  are  founded  on  fact ;  and  the 
incident  of  **  We  are  seven,"  occurred  to  him  in  Wales.  As 
an  agent  of  the  government,  in  the  local  concerns  of  the 
country,  this  gentleman  receives  an  income,  as  I  have  been 
informed,  of  =£500  a  year. 


\ 


Lesson  139.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  303 

LESSON  CXXXIX. 

3Iount  Washington.* — Mellen. 

Mount  of  the  clouds  ;  on  whose  Olympian  height 
The  tall  rocks  brighten  in  the  ether  air, 
And  spirits  from  the  skies  come  down  at  night, 
To  chant  immortal  songs  to  Freedom  there  ! 
Thine  is  the  rock  of  other  regions  ;  where 
The  world  of  life  which  blooms  so  far  below 
Sweeps  a  wide  waste  :   no  gladdening  scenes  appear, 
Save  where  with  silvery  flash  the  w^aters  flow 
Beneath  the  far  ofl"  mountain,  distant,  calm,  and  slow. 

Thine  is  the  summit  where  the  clouds  repose, 
Or  eddying  wildly  round  thy  cliffs  are  borne  ; 
When  Tempest  mounts  his  rushing  car,  and  throws 
His  billowy  mist  amid  the  thunder's  home  ! 
Far  down  the  deep  ravines  the  w^hirlwinds  come, 
And  bow  the  forests  as  they  sweep  along ; 
While  roaring  deeply  from  their  rocky  womb 
The  storms  come  forth — and  hurrying  darkly  on*, 
Amid  the  echoing  peaks  the  revelry  prolong  ! 

And  when  the  tumult  of  the  air  is  fled, 
And  quenched  in  silence  all  the  tempest  flame, 
There  come  the  dim  forms  of  the  mighty  dead, 
Around  the  steep  which  bears  the  hero's  name. 
The  stars  look  down  upon  them — and  the  same 
Pale  orb  that  glistens  o'er  his  distant  grave, 
Gleams  on  the  summit  that  enshrines  his  fame, 
And  lights  the  cold  tear  of  the  glorious  brave — 
The  richest,  purest  tear,  that  memory  eveY  gave ! 

Mount  of  the  clouds  !  when  winter  round  thee  throws 
The  hoary  mantle  of  the  dying  year, 
Sublime  amid  thy  canopy  of  snows. 
Thy  towers  in  bright  magnificence  appear  ! 
'Tis  then  we  view  thee  with  a  chilling  fear, 
Till  summer  robes  thee  in  her  tints  of  blue  ; 
When  lo  !  in  softened  grandeur,  far,  yet  clear, 
Thy  battlements  stand  clothed  in  Heaven's  own  hue. 
To  swell  as  Freedom's  home  on  man's  unbounded  view  i' 

"  The  loftiest  peak  of  the  White  Mountains,  N.  H,. 


^'04  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  140. 

LESSON  CXL. 

Extract  from  a  Discourse  cleUvercd  before  the  Society  for 
commeniorctting  the  Landing  of  Wiltiam  Penn,  Oct.  2Uh 
1825. — J.  H.  Ingersoll. 

In  the  crucible  of  liberty,  all  the  languages  of  Europe 
have  been  melted  into  one.  In  the  temple  of  toleration, 
all  religions  have  been  sanctified.  The  forests  of  a  continent 
have  been  weeded  with  sturdy  hands,  till  its  wilds*  have  be- 
come the  ways  of  pleasantness,  and  the  paths  of  peace.  With 
stout  hearts  and  apt  genius,  the  ocean  has  been  tamed  till  it 
is  part  of  the  domain- 
Plenty  empties  her  full  horn  into  the  lap  of  tranquillity. 
Commerce  fetches  riches  from  every  latitude.  The  earth 
and  mountains  are  quick  with  inexhaustible  productions. 
Domestick  industry  contributes  its  infinite  creations.  Poetry, 
history,  architecture,  sculpture,  painting,  and  musick,  daily 
add  their  memorials.  Yet  these  are  as  nothing.  Enjoyments 
scarcely  acknowledged — all  local  advantages  would  be  disre- 
garded, if  they  were  not  recommended  by  the  religious, 
social,  and  political  principles  we  enjoy  with  them. 

Let  us  cultivate,  and  vindicate,  and  perpetuate  this  coun- 
try, not  only  by  the  power  and  sympathies  of  heroick  exploits, 
but  by  the  nobler  attractions  of  all  the  arts  of  peace.  Ours 
is  the  country  of  principles,  not  place  ;  where  the  domestick 
virtues  reign,  in  union  with  the  rights  of  man  ;  where  intense 
patriotism  is  the  natural  offspring  of  those  virtues  and  rights; 
where  love  of  country  is  a  triple  tie,  to  birthplace,  to  state, 
and  to  union,  spun  in  the  magick  woof  that  binds  calcula- 
tion to  instinct. 

Aloof,  erect,  unmeddling,  undaunted,  it  neither  envies  nor 
fears,  while  justly  estimating,  the  splendid  and  imposing  as- 
cendency of  the  continent  it  sprung  from.  It  sends  on  every 
gale  to  Europe  the  voice,  not  of  defiance  or  hostility,  but  of 
an  independent  hemisphere  of  freemen.  It  sends  to  Asia 
the  riches  of  commerce,  and  the  Gospel  with  healing  on  its 
wings.  It  sends  to  Africa  tlie  banner  spangled  with  stars,  to 
awe  the  tyrant  and  protect  the  slave.  It  sends  to  all  benight- 
ed quarters  of  the  globe,  the  mild  but  divine  radiance  of  an 
irresistible  example.  It  invites  the  oppressed  of  all  nations 
and  degrees,  from  dethroned  monarchs  and  banished  princes, 
to  fugitive  peasants  and  destitute  labourers,  to  come  and  rest 
within  these  borders. 


( 


Lesson  141.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  305 

May  the  sciences  and  refinements  which  embellish  and 
enlighten,  the  charities  that  endear,  and  the  loyalty  that  en- 
nobles, forever  flourish  here  on  the  broad  foundations  of 
peace,  liberty,  and  intelligence.  And  among  increasing 
millions  of  educated,  moral,  and  contented  people,  may  the 
disciples  of  Penn,  Franklin,  and  Washington,  meet  together 
in  frequent  and  grateful  concourse,  to  render  thanksgivings 
to  the  Almighty  for  the  blessings  we  enjoy  by  his  dispensa- 
tion. 


LESSON  CXLI. 

Bwial  of  the  Minnisinh — Longfellow. 

On  sunny  slope  and  beechen  swell, 
The  shadowed  light  of  evening  fell  ; 
And  when  the  maple's  leaf  was  brown, 
With  soft  and  silent  lapse  came  down, 
The  glory  that  the  wood  receives 
At  sunsetj  in  its  golden  leaves. 

Far  upward,  in  the  mellow  light, 

Rose  the  blue  hills — one  cloud  of  white  ; 

Around  a  far  uplifted  cone 

In  the  warm  blush  of  evening  shone  : 

An  image  of  the  silver  lakes 

By  which  the  Indian  soul  awakes. 

But  soon  a  funeral  hymn  was  heard, 
Where  the  soft  breath  of  evening  stirred 
The  tall  gray  forest — and  a  band 
Of  stern  in  heart  and  strong  in  hand, 
Came  winding  down  beside  the  wave 
To  lay  the  red  chief  in  his  grave. 

They  sung — that  by  his  native  bowers 
He  stood,  in  the  last  moon  of  flowers, 
And  thirty  snows  had  not  yet  shed  . 
Their  glory  on  the  warriour's  head: — 
But  as  the  summer  fruit  decays — 
So  died  he  in  those  naked  days. 
26* 


306  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  HI. 

A  dark  cloak  of  the  roebuck's  skin 
Covered  the  warriour — and  witliin 
Its  heavy  folds,  the  weapons  made 
For  the  hard  toils  of  war  were  laid  ; — 
The  cuirass  woven  of  plaited  reeds, 
And  the  broad  belt  of  shells  and  beads. 

Before,  a  dark-haired  virgin  train 
Chanted  the  death  dirge  of  the  slain : 
Behind,  the  long  procession  came 
Of  hoary  men  and  chiefs  of  fame — 
With  heavy  hearts — and  eyes  of  grief — 
Leading  the  war-horse  of  their  chief. 

Stript  of  his  proud  and  martial  dress, 
Uncurbed,  unreined,  and  riderless — 
With  darting  eye,  and  nostril  spread — 
And  heavy  and  impatient  tread, 
He  came — and  oft  that  eye  so  proud 
Asked  for  his  rider  in  the  crowd. 

They  buried  the  dark  chief— they  freed 
Beside  the  grave  his  battle  steed — 
And  swift  an  arrow  cleaved  its  way 
To  his  stern  heart  : — One  piercing  neigh 
Arose — and  on  the  dead  man's  plain, 
The  rider  grasps  his  steed  again.* 


LESSON  CXLIL 
Sonnets. — Percival, 

I. 

My  country — at  the  sound  of  that  dear  name 
The  wanderer's  heart  aw  akens,  nerved  and  bold ; 
Before  him  stands  the  deeds  and  days  of  old, 
The  tombs  of  ages,  and  the  rolls  of  fame 
Sculptured  on  columns,  where  the  living  flame 
Of  Freedom  lights  anew  its  fading  ray. 
And  glow  s  in  emulation  of  that  day, 

"*  AHudin«r  to  an  Indian  superstition- 


( 


Lesson  143.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  307 

When  on  their  foes  they  stamped  the  brand  of  shame  : 

Yes,  at  the  thought  of  these  bright  trophies  leaps 

The  spirit  in  his  bosom,  and  he  turns 

His  longing  eye  to  where  his  parent  sleeps, 

And  high  on  rocks  his  country's  beacon  burns ; 

And  though  the  world  be  gayest,  and  sweet  forms 

Of  love  and  beauty  call  him,  he  would  fly, 

And  walk  delighted  in  her  mountain  storms^ 

And  man  his  soul  with  valour  at  her  cry. 

And  in  the  fiercest  shock  of  battle  die* 

11. 

Come  forth,  fair  waters,  from  the  classick  spring, 
And  let  me  quaff  your  nectar,  that  my  soul 
May  lift  itself  upon  a  bolder  wing, 
And  spurn  awhile  this  being's  base  control 
How  many  a  cup  of  inspiration  stole 
The  bards  from  out  thy  sparkling  well,  and  sung 
Strains  high,  and  worthy  of  the  kindling  bowl, 
Till  all  Aonia  and  Hesperia  rung  — 
And  on  the  green  isles  of  the  ocean  sprung 
A  wilder  race  of  minstrels,  like  the  storm, 
Which  beats  their  rocky  bulwarks  ;  there  they  strung 
A  louder  harp,  and  showed  a  prouder  form  ; 
And  sending  o'er  the  sea  their  song,  our  shore 
Shall  catch  the  sound,  and  silent  sleep  no  more. 


LESSON  CXLIII. 

UThe  New  Balance  of  Power. — W.  R.  Johnson. 

Indeed  if  the  balance  of  power  was  ever  seriously  threat- 
ened, it  is  so  at  this  moment ; — rnot  the  balance  of  power  be- 
tween a  Charles  and  a  Francis,  a  George  and  a  Louis,  or  a 
Napoleon  and  an  Alexander, — but  between  a  band  of  arro- 
gant pretenders  to  authority,  their  dependents  and  parasites 
on  the  one  hand,  and  the  millions  of  mankind,  embracing  all 
that  is  noble  and  dignified  in  morals  and  intellect  on  the 
other  ; — the  balance  of  power  between  sober,  enlightened  pnb- 
lick  opinion,  resting  on  the  foundation  of  philosophy  ; — and 
the  detestable  and  rotten  prejudices  of  a  benighted  age,  sup- 
ported by  the  authority  of  the  bayonet. 


30^  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lessoyi  144, 

The  Turk  is  by  no  means  the  only  foe  to  civilization  that 
humanity  has  now  to  dread  in  her  efforts  at  improvement  and 
happiness.  The  crusade  is  no  longer  that  of  Christian  against 
Mahometan,  but  of  Christian  against  Christian.  It  is  no 
more  a  war  of  extermination  against  Saracens,  but  of  pro- 
scription against — liberals  ;  no  longer  a  struggle  for  the 
possession  of  the  Holy  Sepulchre,  but  for  the  maintenance  of 
the  Holy  Alliance, — that  sacred  combination  for  perpetuat- 
ing the  blessings  of  barbarism. 

The  first  steps  which  mark  the  progress  of  this  formidable 
conspiracy  in  every  land  where  it  gains  a  footing,  are  such  as 
might  readily  be  anticipated  from  a  knowledge  of  its  compo- 
sition and  character ; — the  silencing  of  deliberative  assem- 
blies, the  shackling  of  the  press,  the  suppression  of  free 
genius,  and  the  prohibition  of  foreign  literature, — the  closing 
of  Universities,  the  discouragement  of  general  education,  the 
abolition  of  all  institutions  which  teach  the  true  equality  of 
men,  and  the  denunciation  of  liberal  principles  on  whatever 
subject  and  wherever  extended. 

I  well  know,  it  may  be  thought  needless  to  write  of  facts 
so  well  known  as  these  are  in  this  country.  But  it  is  not 
needless  and  ought  not  to  be  useless.  Degraded  will  be  our 
character  and  dark  will  be  our  prospects,  when  the  doings 
and  purposes  of  the  banded  legitimates  of  Europe  are  not 
watched  with  ceaseless  and  jealous  scrutiny.  Let  the  tale  of 
their  folly  or  their  villany  be  thrice  or  ten  times  told,  it  ought 
not  to  be  a  dull  one  ;  scarce  any  reference  to  their  unhallow- 
ed aiul  fearful  proceedings  can  be  superfluous^ 


LESSON  CXLIV. 

Trial   of  KoningsmarJcCj  the  Long  Finne^  and  Summary 
Justice  of  the  Heer  Peter  Piper. — Pauljding. 

The  curious  traveller  along  the  western  bank  of  the  Dela- 
ware river,  will  hardly  fail  to  notice  some  few  scattered  re- 
mains, such  as  parts  of  old  walls,  and  fragments  of  chhnneys, 
which  indicate  where  once  stood  the  famous  fort  and  town 
of  Elsingburgh,  one  of  the  earliest  settlements  of  the  Swedes 
in  this  country.  The  precise  spot  these  ruins  occupy  we 
shall  not  point  out,  since  it  is  our  present  intention  to  give 


Lesson  144.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURiE.  309 

such  an  accurate  description,  that  it  cannot  be  mistaken  by 
a  reader  of  common  sagacity. 

At  the  time  this  history  commences,  that  is  to  say,  some- 
where about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  a  period  of 
very  remote  antiquity  considering  the  extreme  juvenility  of 
our  country,  this  important  little  post  was  governed  by  the 
Heer  Peter  Piper,  a  short  thickset  person,  of  German  parent- 
age, whose  dress,  rain  or  shine,  week  days  or  Sundays,  in 
peace  or  war,  in  winter  and  summer,  was  a  suit  of  olive- 
coloured  velvet,  ornamented  with  ebony  buttons.  A  picture 
still  preserved  in  the  Piper  family,  represents  him  with  a 
round,  and  somewhat  full  face,  a  good  deal  wrinkled  ;  sturdy 
short  legs,  thin  at  the  ankles,  and  redundant  at  the  calves, 
such  as  we  seldom  see  now-a-days,  since  the  horrible  inven- 
tion of  loose  trowsers,  which  renders  it  entirely  unnecessary 
that  nature  should  take  any  special  pains  with  that  part  of 
the  animal  man  ;  square-toed  shoes,  and  square  buckles  of  a 
yellowish  hue,  but  whether  of  gold  or  brass  is  impossible  to 
decide  at  this  remote  period. 

We  would  give  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  all  that  part  of  it 
which  is  at  present  in  our  possession,  namely,  a  magnificent 
.castle  in  the  air,  to  be  able  to  satisfy  the  doubts  of  our  read- 
ers in  respect  to  the  problem  whether  the  Heer  Peter  Piper 
wore  a  cocked  hat.     But  as  the  painter,  with  an  unpardona- 
*    ble  negligence,  and  a  total  disregard  to  posterity,  has  chosen 
HlJ^- represent  him  bareheaded,  we  can  only  say,  that  his  head 
^^Ife  ordinarily  covered  with  a  thick  crop  of  hair  that  curled 
gather  crabbedly  about  his  forehead  and  ears. 

It  hath  been  aptly  remarked  by  close  observers  of  human 

nature,  that  this  species  of  petulant  curl,  is  almost  the  inva- 

Hplfcle  concomitant  of  an   irritable,  testy,  impatient  temper, 

Bpvhich,  as  it  were",  crisps  and  curls  about  after  a  similar  man- 

J^per  with  the  said  hair. 

■  Certain  it  is,  that,  whatever  exceptions  may  occur  to  the 
^  general  rule,  the  Heer  Piper  was  not  one  of  them,  he  being, 
as  the  course  of  our  history  will  fully  substantiate,  an  exceed- 
ing little  tyrant,  that  fell  into  mortal  passions  about  notliing-, 
broke  his  nose  over  every  straw  that  lay  in  his  way,  and  was 
seldom  to  be  found  in  any  sort  of  a  good  humour,  except 
when  he  had  sworn  vengeance  at  every  soul  that  excited 
his  wrath. 

Indeed,  to  say  truth,  he  was  one  of  those  blustering  little 
bodies,  who  differ  entirely  from  those  who  are  said  to  be  no 
heroes  to  their  valet-de-chambre,  since  it  was  said  of  him 


310  CLASS  BOOK  OF  [Lesson  144. 

that  he  was  a  hero  to  nobody  else,  but  his  servants  and  de- 
pendents, whora  he  buHied  exceedingly.  The  good  people  of 
Elsingburgh  called  him,  behind  his  back,  Pepper  Pot  Peter, 
in'double  allusion  to  the  fiery  nature  of  his  talk,  and  his 
fondness  for  the  dish  known  among  our  ancestors  by  that 
name,  and  remarkable  for  its  high  seasoning. 

One  sultry  summer  afternoon  in  the  month  of  July,  the 
Heer  Peter  having  finished  his  dinner  by  one  o'clock,  was 
sitting  in  his  great  arm  chair,  under  the  shade  of  a  noble 
elm,  the  stump  of  which  is  still  to  be  seen,  and  being  hollow, 
serves  for  a  notable  pig-sty,  smoking  his  pipe  as  was  his  cus- 
tom, jEind  ruminating  in  that  luxurious  state  of  imbecility  be- 
tween sleeping  and  waking. 

The  river  in  front,  spread  out  into  an  expansive  lake, 
smooth  and  bright  as  a  looking  glass ;  the  leaves  hung  almost 
lifeless  to  the  trees,  for  there  was  not  a  broath  of  air  stirring  ; 
the  cattle  stood  midway  in  the  waters,  lashing  the  flies  lazily 
with  their  tails  ;  the  turkeys  sought  the  shade  with  their  bills 
wide  open,  gasping  for  breath  ;  and  all  nature,  animate  as 
well  as  inanimate,  displayed  that  lassitude  which  is  the  con- 
sequence of  excessive  heat. 

The  Heer  sat  with  his  eyes  closed,  and  we  will  not  aver 
that  he  was  not  at  this  precise  moment  fast  asleep,  although 
the  smoke  of  his  pipe  still  continued  to  ascend  at  regular 
intervals,    in  a  perpendicular  column,    inasmuch  as   it  v^^^ 
affirmed   by   Wolfgang  Lanfanger,  and   some  others  of^^^BF' 
friends  and  counsellers,  that  the  Heer  Piper  did  sometimes 
smoke  somewhat  instinctively,  as  a  man  breathes  in  his  sleep. 
However  this  may  be,  whether  sleeping  or  waking,   the  Go- 
vernor was  suddenly   roused   by   the  intrusion  of  one  ^^i^ 
Dotterel,  a  constable  and  busy-body,  who  considered  himl^HJ 
in  virtue  of  his  office,  at  full  liberty  to  poke  his  probosci^B 
into  every  hole  and  corner,  and  to  pry  into  the  secret  as  well  1 
as  publick  actions  of  every  soul  in  the  village.  % 

It  is  astonishing,  what  a  triumph  it  was  to  Lob  Dotterel, 
to  catch  any  body  tripping  ;  he  considered  it  a  proof  of  his 
vigilance  and  sagacity.  And  here,  lest  the  reader  should  do 
Master  Dotterel  wrong,  in  supposing  that  the  prospect  ol 
bribes  or  fees  herein  stimulated  him  to  activity,  we  will  aver 
it  as  our  belief,  that  he  was  governed  by  no  such  sordid  mo- 
tive, but  acted  upon  a  similar  instinct  with  that  of  a  well-bred 
pointer  dog,  who  is  ever  seen  wagging  his  tail  with  great 
delight  when  he  brings  in  game,  although  he  neither  expects 
to  be  rewarded,  or  to  share  in  the  spoil,  at  least  so  far  as  we 
have  been  able  to  penetiate  his  raotijes. of  action. 


Lesson  144.]     AMERICAN  LITERATURE.  SH 

Master  Dotterel  was  backed  on  the  occasion  aforesaid,  by 
one  Restore  Gosling,  and  Master  Oldale,  keeper  of  the  In- 
dian Queen,  the  most  fashionable,  not  to  say  the  only  tavern, 
in  the  village  of  Elsingburgh.  These  three  worthies  had  in 
custody  a  tall,  straight,  light-complexioned,  blue-eyed  youth, 
who  signified  his  contempt  for  the  accusation,  whatever  it 
might  be,  the  constable.  Master  Restore  Gosling,  Master 
Oldale,  and  the  Heer  Peter  himself,  by  rubbing  his  chin  on 
either  side  with  his  thumb  and  fingers,  and  whistling  Yankee 
Doodle,  or  any  other  tune  that  doth  not  involve  a  horrible 
anachronism. 

There  are  three  things  a  real  genuine  great  man  cannot 

'     bear,  to  wit : — to  do  business  after  dinner — to  be  disturbed 

'  in  his  meditations — or  to  suspect  that  the  little  people  below 
him  do  not  think  him  so  great  a  person  as  he  is  inclined  to 
think  himself.  All  these  causes  combined  to  put  the  Heer 
Peter  in  a  bad  humour,  insomuch  that  he  privately  commun- 
ed with  himself  that  he  would  tickle  this  whistling,  chin- 

^    scraping  stripling. 

^'       "  Well,  culprit,^'  cried  the  Heer,  with  a  formidable  aspect 
of  authority — "Well,   culprit,  what,  is  your  crime?     lean 
'see  with  half  an  eye  you're  no  better  than  you  should  be." 

hff'      **  That's  no  more  than  may  be  said  of  most  people,  I  be- 

^lieve,"  answered  the  youth  with  great  composure. 

^Bjl^Answer  me,  sirrah,"  quoth  the  Heer,  '*  what  is  thy  crime, 

^^HR^sk  these  Gentlemen,"  said  the  other. 
^^V^  What — eh  !    you  can't  confess,  hey  !    an  old  offender  I 
^rarrant  me.      I'll  tickle   you   before  I've   done   with  you. 
's   thy    name — whence    came    you — and   whither   art 
^oing,  culprit  ?" 

y  name,"    replied   the  fair   tall  youth,   "is  Konings- 

,  surnamed  the  Long  Finne ;    I  came  from  the  Hoar- 

,  and  I  am  going  to  jail,  I  presume,  if  I  may  augur  aught 

from  your  Excellency's  look,  and  the  hard  names  you  are 

pleased  to  bestow  on  me." 

Nothing  is  so  provoking  to  the  majesty  of  a  great  man,  as 
the  self-possession  of  a  little  one.  The  Heer  Peter  Piper 
began  to  suspect  that  the  Long  Finne  did  not  stand  in  suffi- 
cient awe  of  his  dignity  and  authority,  a  suspicion  than  which 
nothing  could  put  him  in  a  greater  passion.  He  addressed 
Master  Dotterel,  and  demanded  to  know  for  what  offence 
the  culprit  was  brought  before  him,  in  a  tone  which  Lob 
perfectly  understood  as  encouragement  not  to  suppress  any 


812  CLASS  BOOK.  [Lessm  144. 

part  of  the  prisoner's  guilt.  Lob  hereupon  referred  the  Heer 
to  Master  Oldalc,  who  referred  him  to  Restore  Gosling,  who 
had  laid  the  information.  This  apparent  disposition  to  shift 
the  weight  of  proof,  caused  additional  wrath  in  the  Heer,  who 
began  to  tremble  lest  the  Long  Finne  might  give  him  the 
slip,  and  escape  the  consequences  of  his  contempt  of  author- 
ity. He  thujidered  forth  a  command  to  Gosling  to  state  all 
he  knew  against  the  culprit ;  laying  hard  emphasis  on  the 
word  ''all." 

Master  Gosling,  after  divers  scratches  of  the  head,  such  as 
my  Lord  Byron  indulgeth  in  when  he  writeth  poetry,  gather- 
ed himself  together,  and  said  as  follows — not   deposed,  for 
the  Heer  held  it  an  undue  indulgence  to  prisoners,  to  put 
the  witnesses  against  them  to  their  bible  oath.     Master  Gos- 
ling stated,  that  he  had  seen  the  young  man,  who  called  him- 
self Koniii'^smarke,  or  the  Long  Finne,  take  out  of  his  pocket 
a  hnndfull  of  Mark  Newby's  halfpence,  or,  as  it  was  com^^ 
monly   called,  Pat^s   halfpence,  which  every  body  knew  wa^S 
prohibited  being  brought  into  the  dominions  of  Swpden,  un- 
der penalty  of  confiscation  of  the  money  ;    one  half  to  tiie 
informer,  and  the  other  half  to  his  Sacred  Majesty,  the  King^ 
of  Sweden,  Denmark,  Norway,  and  the  Goths. 

"Ho,  ho!"  exclaimed  the  Heer,  rubbing  his  hands;  *'this 
looks  like  conspiracy  and  plot  with  a  vengeance.     I  shou^ 
not  be  surprized  if  the  Pope  were  at  the  bottom  of 
And  here  we  will  remind  the  reader  that  this  was  abouf 
time  that  tlie  manufactory  of  plots.  Popish  and  PresbyterJ 
Meal  Tub  and  Rye  House,  flourished  so  luxuriantly, 
the  fruitful  invention  of  Shaftesbury,  Oates,  TongueJ 
dale.  Bed  low  and  others.     Now  the  Heer  Peter  alwayi 
pattern  after  the  old  countries,  insomuch   that    whene^ 
plot  came  out  in  England,  or  elsewhere,  he  forthwith  got  uj 
another  at  Elsingburgh,  as  nearly  like  it  as  possible.     In  oncj 
word,  he  imitated  all  the  pranks,  freaks,  and  fooleries  ofjroy-T 
alty,  as  an  ape  does  those  of  a  man.  '     ' 

"Long  Finne,"  said  the  Heer,  after  considerable  cogit 
tion — '*  Long  Finne,  thou  art  found  guilty  of  suspicion  of 
traitorous  designs  against  the  authority  of  his  sacred  majesty, 
Gustavus  Adolphus  of  Sweden,  and  in  order  that  thou  mayest 
have  time  and  opportunity  to  clear  up  thy  character,  we  sen- 
tence thee  to  be  imprisoned  till  thine  innocence  is  demon- 
strated, or  thou  shalt  confess  thy  guilt.'' 


I 


'-IT' 


I 


i 


